


Salt For Sugar

by itwilleatyourbabies



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Graphic Description, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra! Peter, Hydra! Peter Parker, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter Parker is an assassin for Hydra, Peter has relationships with all the Avengers but I only listed the most important ones, Stockholm Syndrome, The Avengers want to help Peter turn his life around, Tony Stark Has A Heart, at least i think, but Peter wants to kill them, but only because they kidnapped him, graphic descriptions of mental illness and self harm, he has no idea what he wants, until he doesn't anymore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-01-31 12:03:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itwilleatyourbabies/pseuds/itwilleatyourbabies
Summary: “After Washington,” Fury spoke slowly, as though Clint had never spoken at all,“what was left of S.H.I.E.L.D. got wind of Hydra creating a new weapon-- something more dangerous than we had ever seen before.”The room was silent."And we need you to dispose of it.". . .The Spider has killed sixty-four people, and he never leaves a trace, but now, it was time for his most dangerous mission:kill the Avengers.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 61
Kudos: 565





	1. Guns for Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
Thank you so much for stopping by this fic, it means a whole lot to me. Whether you just found this or your one of the people from my Whumptober fic (shameless plug-- go check it out) I hope you enjoy this, I'm nervous about it, but I'm excited for this fic as a whole. I'm setting it at 12 chapters for right now, but that may change. 
> 
> I'll be updating this fic every other Friday, hopefully, I think I can stick to that. 
> 
> Anyways, I always want to hear your thoughts, so please leave comments for me either here or at my tumblr: spiclergwen

It was too goddamn early for Tony to be awake. He blinked tiredly as he plopped into one of the many plush leather chairs in the briefing room. It wasn’t unlike Nick Fury to call urgent meetings, but with the way said man was calmly flipping through papers at the head of the table, it didn’t seem all that urgent. 

Tony made eye contact with Natasha from across the table, and almost immediately he had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes as she smirked at him, somehow wide awake. He turned his attention back to Fury, who stood at the head of the sleek glass table in the Avenger’s briefing room, as the rest of the team trickled in. 

Fury glared at them all like it was somehow their fault that he had called an “urgent” meeting at eight in the morning. 

The Avengers sat around the table, all in various states of dress. Tony had managed to pull on a full suit and sunglasses, while Clint had forgotten to put on shoes. Wanda was still dressed in fluffy pink pajama bottoms, and Sam and Steve had rushed in from a run when they got the call, distantly Tony entertained the idea that they looked more like rejects from the island of misfit toys than Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. 

Fury placed both his hands on the table, leaning over it as he surveyed the room. There were a few more beats of silence before it was broken by Clint.

“Nick, man-- can we get this show on the road already? I wanna go back to bed.” Fury said nothing, shooting Clint a quick (but highly effective) glare. 

“After Washington,” Fury spoke slowly, as though Clint had never spoken at all, “what was left of S.H.I.E.L.D. got wind of Hydra creating a new weapon-- something more dangerous than we had ever seen before.” Nobody spoke, but glances were exchanged, some bothered with something akin to disbelief, but most of them just looked exhausted. 

“We’ve been tracking this new weapon ever since, but we’ve been able to gain little information. It’s unclear whether we’re looking at some sort of machine or an actual person, but it’s safe to say it’s incredibly dangerous.” Natasha interrupted. 

“How do we know there’s an actual weapon, and not just Hydra bluffing?” She had her head cocked to one side, it wasn’t an accusing look, just a sign of her super-spy brain at work, but Fury looked a bit disgruntled at the question anyway. 

“Hydra’s been leaving… clues, which is unlike them. In the last three years, we’ve investigated sixty-four assassinations and murders that link back to Hydra, each body was covered in,” Fury struggled with the hologram beside him for a moment, before a picture appeared beside him, “this weird, webbing? We’re not sure what it is, but it’s similar to that of a spider. It’s always covering the body.” 

Tony studied the picture for a moment. The webbing was thin and pure white like a spider’s silk, and as Fury pulled up more of the photos it became clear that this was no coincidence, each one the same as the last, a dead body wrapped in an intricate pattern of webs. 

_ But wait…  _

“How do we know this is connected to Hydra, and not some other organization?” Steve voiced Tony’s thoughts. Fury sighed loudly, as though this whole process was giving him a major headache. 

Which was fair, really. Tony could relate. 

“We have reason to believe they are related. Now, are you all done asking useless questions so that I can actually get on with this?” Steve nodded. 

“Great.” Fury pulled his hands away from the table, standing up straight again, he began to pace back and forth across the front of the room, eyes never straying from the team of heroes. 

“This weapon, whatever it is, is incredibly powerful; and quite frankly, we’re not sure just how much damage it could do.” Nick glanced over his shoulder, as though expecting the weapon to be there, pointed at his head.

“Recently, we’ve received intel about the location of this weapon, and we want to send you all in to destroy it.” They all nodded, but it was Wanda that asked:

“What if the weapon is a person?” Fury scoffed and then shrugged. 

“ I. Need. You. To. Destroy. It. It’s a threat to all of mankind, not some fucking delinquent teenager, we need it out of the picture.”

Wanda sat back in her seat, eyeing Fury with a look that was mistrustful and a bit angry, full of apprehension. 

Tony couldn’t blame her for that, it was a bit… harsh. 

“Your goal is to dispose of this weapon, by any means necessary, without the general public finding out. As of right now, this weapon is public enemy number one.” 

“When do you want us to head out?” Steve questioned. Fury appeared to think it over for a minute. 

“The base is an underwater one and the entrance seems to be in the Cobscook Bay near Eastport, Maine. Once S.H.I.E.L.D. has effectively figured out how to infiltrate the base, we’ll send you all in. Currently, we estimate about twenty-four hours.” Sam opened his mouth, but Fury raised a finger and continued before he could be interrupted again. 

“I’ll leave you with the files, and let you know when we’re ready. Are there any questions?” They all shook their heads, knowing Fury’s question was rhetorical. He had told them everything he thought they needed to know. He grabbed the folders of the table and passed them around, waiting until they were all safely in the team’s hands before turning to leave. 

“We’ll be in touch.” He added, aware that each of the Avengers was already hyper-focused on the folders in front of them. For a moment, nobody moved as they stared at the plain manila files. It was Sam who recovered first. 

“It’s a bit weird that we haven’t heard about this weapon before isn’t it?” Tony shrugged as he thumbed through the folder, there wasn’t much there. Whatever did this was good at covering its tracks. If it wasn’t for the calling card left at each crime, it would be impossible to tell they were related-- the cause of death was different every single time, each one appearing to be quick, and leaving no witnesses. It was Natasha that answered.

“It’s not unusual for S.H.I.E.L.D. to avoid filling us in until they think we need to know.” She was also focused on the folder in front of her, and Tony watched her eyebrows knit together as she slowly came to the same conclusions as him. 

“It’s strange,” Wanda added, studying an autopsy report, “whatever it is must be fast. There are no eyewitness accounts, no security footage, nothing.” Clint nodded. 

“Should be a blast.” 

“Can’t wait.” Tony deadpanned as he snapped his folder closed. 

. . .

Sweaty skin stuck to spandex as Peter all but dragged his exhausted body into one of Hydra’s many briefing rooms. His last mission had barely ended before his superiors called for him, not even leaving him time to change out of the spider suit he wore on missions.

As he walked, he rubbed the Hydra logo on the side of his suit, the matte black standing out against the red. He had fucked up, he knew it, but hopefully, his superiors would go easy on him, he had been successful anyways.

_ You’re so stupid, _ his mind cackled as a chill ran down his spine,  _ you almost blew your mission, of course, they won’t go easy on you.  _

“Spider.” Agent Jackson Kent nodded at Peter as he finally shuffled into the briefing room, his eyes turned down and immediately began studying his feet as he entered. he shifted uncomfortably in the dark red spandex, trying to ignore the eyes that roamed his figure. As he approached his superiors, he quickly shifted two gloved hands behind back, leaving him at attention. 

_ Focus, Peter focus focus focus focus focus focus focus focus  _

“Remove the mask.” Agent Kent demanded, and quickly, Peter fumbled to remove the mask from his face, running a hand through his sweaty curls as he did so. He breathed in the salty air of the base deeply, the smell reminding him of home. (Even if “home” was attached to very many good memories). 

He clutched the mask in his right hand before moving both clasping his hands behind his back once again. His eyes stared down at the spider logo in the middle of his chest, the black mocking him against the deep red of the rest of the suit. 

That was him, the Spider, the number one threat to humanity.

Nevermind that the Spider was just sixteen-year-old Peter, a kid born and raised for Hydra to use. 

Behind him, he heard the door slide open, and the familiar sounds of Agent Victoria Wagner’s boots across the concrete floor alerted him to her presence. He did not turn around, or give any other indication that he had heard her enter-- acknowledging her presence before he was asked to would be a sign of disrespect, and Peter didn’t want to risk it.

Agent Wagner may look warm and loving, but Peter knew that disrespecting her would get him punished. 

Or worse. 

So he kept his head down as she crossed the room, not even bothering to look at him. She stood by Agent Kent, their identical combat boots just outside Peter’s line of sight. For a moment, they said nothing, allowing Peter to shift uncomfortably in the terse silence that settled over the room while he stewed in the knowledge of his own mistake. 

Agent Wagner’s sharp voice cut through the tension like a knife. 

“Your mission was successful, Spider, you disposed of the target quickly, and there are no eyewitness accounts.” 

Peter nodded his understanding but ignored the way his heart fluttered at the praise. 

_ You are undeserving of praise, _ a voice sneered,  _ it is your job to do things for Hydra, you should not be praised because you did not fail.  _

_ You are undeserving.  _

Agent Kent had once told him only humans deserved praise, not weapons and mutants. Peter shut his eyes for a moment, the memories of that day flooding his subconscious; however, his superiors did not acknowledge his shiver, too focused on the issues at hand.

_ Of course, you need to focus, as well, Peter.  _

“However,” Agent Kent added, “You were supposed to dispose of the target via gunshot, instead you snapped his neck, why is that?” 

_ The question’s rhetorical the question’s rhetorical the question’s rhetorical the question’s-- _

“Because,” Peter’s voice was quiet, and he fought hard to keep the trembling out of his voice all the while he kept his eyes trained on the ground, “his wife was in the bathroom across the hall, I did not want to potentially alert her to my presence.” 

“ _ You. _ ” Agent Kent hissed. 

Immediately, Peter’s back straightened, even more, his hands clutching each other tightly behind his back.

“My apologies, sir, I won’t speak out of turn again.” His voice was soft, and it didn’t sound anything like Peter’s own, the words rushing out of his mouth before he could even think them all the way through 

Despite his warning, Agent Kent crosses the space between them in a matter of seconds, grabbing Peter’s chin tightly between his thumb and fingers. He squeezed tightly, pain exploding under Peter’s lips as he tilted Peter’s head upwards, forcing him to look into the other man’s eyes, deep brown and burning with an anger that would’ve made Peter shutter if he had control over his body. He raised his other hand and brought it hard against Peter’s face, the sound reverberating around the room, the pain from his chin creeping across his face as the handprint blossomed across his cheek. 

“Did you  _ think _ ,” His words were filled with venom as he glared at Peter, “we didn’t think of that already? Do you think we’re fucking _ stupid _ ?” He slapped Peter again as he quickly shook his head, his eyes traveling away from the agent’s face as he stared at the blank wall at the back of the room. He wanted to grasp at his cheek but he couldn’t move. His mind was split, part of him wanted to beg the agent too let him go, while part of him wanted to just shut up and take it like he was trained.

_ Hydra wouldn’t hurt you if you didn’t deserve it,  _ the voice reminded him.  _ Be better.  _

“Answer me when I speak to you!” He yells, tiny drops of spit flinging themselves onto Peter’s face, the words falling hot and angry between them. 

“Of course, not sir. It was wrong of me to ever assume Hydra wouldn’t have given me anything other than the best plans.” Agent Kent nodded, a smile pulling at his lips, the kind that he used to give Peter when he was young when he was still being encouraged and learning his place, it reminded Peter of  _ before _ , but the fury in his eyes remained. 

“Exactly. Now, what is reminder number four, Peter?” Peter shuddered and tried to look down, despite the harsh hand still clutching his chin painfully. 

“Reminder number four: Hydra always knows what is best for me. I will listen to Hydra because they will force me to do what is right.” Peter listed off. Each of his “reminders” drilled into his skull. Agent Kent seemed pleased at that, and he loosened his grip on Peter’s jaw, as though he was proud of Peter. Again, Peter felt his chest flutter, but he pushed the feeling down again. 

“And why does Hydra know what is best for you?” Even his voice was softer now, and Peter felt himself leaning into the calmness. 

“Hydra knows what is best for me because Hydra saved me and they will save the world too.” Agent Kent nodded at that.

“Correct, Peter.” He let go of Peter’s chin and stepped back. Peter resumed looking at the floor as he had before.

“Breaking the rules must be punished.” Agent Wagner added, her eyes baring deep into Peter, as though she was trying to burn a message into his chest like the brand on his back. 

“Change into training clothes and then meet us in the training room. You have five minutes.” Peter nodded his understanding. 

“Spider. You are dismissed.” Peter did not have to be told twice and he turned around and marched out of the debriefing room. 

Peter sprinted silently to his quarters, a tiny place at the end of one series of convoluted hallways, grounding himself as he remembered the _ left, left, right, left. _

The guard who stood by his door pushed the door open for him and Peter quickly ducked under his arm as he sped inside. The room was small, but Peter didn’t really mind-- he didn’t need, didn’t deserve-- any more space. 

_ After all, _ a voice like Agent Kent’s rang in his ear,  _ asking for more means you’re ungrateful, and you’re grateful for anything we choose to give you, right Peter?  _

_ You would be nothing without us.  _

His bed, desk, and dresser were all made of some knock-off titanium and bolted to the concrete floor below. There was only one lightbulb in the room, hanging loosely from the ceiling, always on. 

There was a single window, only about four inches tall and six inches wide, a couple of feet above his bed. that allowed Peter to see the rush of water around his room, a reminder that he was stuck here. At one point, it was a reminder that he was imprisoned, unable to leave and deep underwater, but as he learned his place within Hydra, it reminded him that the outside world was dirty, unsafe.

The outside world had no room and no need for people like him. 

Quickly, he changed out of the spider suit, shoving it into one of his dresser drawers as he changed into training clothes-- a black t-shirt, dark camo pants, black combat boots tied tightly. He glanced around the room again, eyes falling on the clock that was above his desk, one of the only things that reminded him of the world outside. 

One minute left 

Peter bolted back out of his room and sprinted towards the training room, skidding to a halt as he stopped in front of Agent Kent and Agent Wagner. Without speaking, he looked down, clasping his hands behind his back, at attention as usual. 

“Peter.” Agent Wagner’s voice was softer than normal, the same one she always used with him before punishments, leading him to a false sense of security. Peter felt himself lean into the voice, it reminded him of before, when a woman would talk to him in a voice that was soft and kind, he couldn’t remember whose voice it was, but it didn’t matter now.

All that mattered now was his mission.

Or, at least that's what he tried to tell himself. 

“Despite completing your mission, you failed at a crucial part, and that requires punishment.” She waited for Peter to nod once before continuing. 

“Sit.” she gestured at something behind her, hands low enough that they fell into Peter’s line of sight, even with his head bowed. He nodded again and then turned around. There was a chair just a few feet behind him, off the main training mat, tucked into a corner. Next to it was a large metal tray, filled with a few different instruments, but Peter ignored them completely, keeping his eyes focused on the chair. He sat down, and immediately, cuffs snapped in place around his ankles, upper arms, and neck, keeping him secured in place. 

Agent Wagner walked over to him but didn’t speak as she pulled a thick wool blindfold from the table and wrapped it around Peter’s eyes, blinding him. Next, she shoved a weird type of plug into his nose, he couldn’t smell anything, but he was still able to get enough air to breathe. 

“Open,” She tapped at his jaw, long fingernails poking into the bruise from earlier. Peter said nothing as he obeyed, and quickly, she slid a cloth gag around his mouth, stopping him from talking and tasting anything. 

One by one, each of his senses would begin to disappear, leaving him with touch and nothing else. Peter shuddered, he knew what this punishment was, it was absolutely one of his least favorites. 

“Hold out your arms.” Peter did so, extending his arms right below where they were cuffed, it was uncomfortable and he felt his arms already begin to shake as he held them at the odd angle. Agent Wagner grabbed a pair of earplugs off the table and approached Peter again. 

“You know how this goes, right Peter?” She attempted the same apologetic tone, placing the earplugs in his ears as he nodded. They had been manufactured for Peter, and he couldn’t hear anything as Agent Wagner brought a dull knife against his exposed arms. 

It was one of the first punishments they had introduced to Peter after he gained his powers. They blocked out all his senses so that his sense of feeling became even more powerful, to the point where every movement was ten times more painful than normal, that, coupled with his advanced senses, dialed everything way past eleven. Then, they would slowly slice into his arms until they got bored. If Peter dropped his arms, they always added another ten minutes of cutting. 

Peter had nothing to do but sit and what for it to be over. Each cut felt like the dullest blade being stabbed into him, the feeling only heightened by his body’s focus on it. He would try and distract himself from his thoughts by counting the cuts as they happened, but his mind would always wander. 

One. 

_ If he was such a fuck-up, why did Hydra keep him around?  _

Two. 

Tears welled up behind the blindfold,  _ why couldn’t he do anything right?  _

Three. 

_ He was wrong. Wrong to assume he had any right to question Hydra. _

Four. 

_ He would have to make an effort to be better, nobody else would take him in.  _

Five. 

_ They wouldn’t hurt him if he didn’t deserve it. _

Six.

_ He deserved it. _

Seven. 

_ He deserved it.  _

Eight.

_ He deserved it.  _

Around cut sixty-three, Peter’s mind began to wander to the place he wouldn’t let it go, a dark corner of his mind reserved only for late nights and the occasional long shower. 

Sixty-four.

_ What if Hydra was wrong?  _

Sixty-five.

_ What if Peter was doing the wrong thing?  _

Sixty-six. 

_ Why did Hydra hurt him if he was supposed to be great?  _

Sixty-seven. 

_ Did anybody love him, or did Hydra really find him alone on the street?  _

Sixty-eight. 

_ Was he worthy of love at all?  _

They were nearing one hundred when Agent Wagner drew the last cut, she stepped back, admiring her handiwork before untying Peter. She took out the earplugs first and slowly Peter gained each of his senses back. He blinked rapidly as the artificial light assaulted his eyes, the migraine already setting in. As quickly as he senses had been taken away, they came back, feeling weakened but alert. The cuffs unsnapped and he immediately stood at attention once more. 

“You have training at six this morning. Shower and get some sleep, you are dismissed.” Peter gave a nod. 

“Thank you, agent.” She didn’t acknowledge Peter but waved him off. He headed back towards his room, too tired to sprint. He avoided looking at his arms, a sign of his failure. Upon entering his room he looked up at the clock and bit back a sigh as four a.m. mocked him from across the room. 

He shed his training clothes and entered his bathroom, ignoring the broken mirrors as he fiddled with the dials on the shower. This room matched his bedroom, concrete floors, metal furniture. It didn’t bother Peter, not really, he didn’t know anything else. 

The water was ice cold on his skin and he showered quickly, desperate for as much sleep as possible. He watched the water turn pink at his feet as he finally forced himself to face the results of the punishment that was burning across his forearm. 

Thin red cuts lined each of his arms in perfect rows, deep enough to scar for at least a few days, but thin enough that he wouldn’t lose too much blood. He scrubbed at his body and scalp, letting the freezing water run over him. Despite the freezing cold temperature, Peter rejoiced in his showers, the bathroom being the only area where he wasn’t watched by a series of cameras. 

He stepped out and quickly changed into another black t-shirt with matching sweatpants. He barely had time to pull the single gray sheet over his body before he was falling asleep, his dreams a terrifying mix of nothingness and his own memories of punishment and torture and failure. 

A guard slipped breakfast into his room at five-thirty, and Peter quickly swallowed down the room temperature oatmeal and a glass of water. He stood up to change right as his door swung open. Agent Kent marched in and stared at Peter, a hardness replacing the hatred from earlier. It was unusual for either of his bosses to enter Peter’s personal room, but Peter didn’t have the right to question it, so he didn’t.

“Change into the Spider suit, we may be having visitors.” And as quickly as Agent Kent had come, he was gone, exiting through the door without a second thought. 

. . .

It had taken S.H.I.E.L.D. only twenty-one hours to fully locate and plan the infiltration of Eastport Hydra base, and Tony hated it. 

“Why couldn’t they have at least waited until the sun came up?” Clint asked as Tony took another sip of his coffee, the quinjet taking off from the compound. Steve shrugged.

“They wanted us to get it done quickly, you know that.” Tony rolled his eyes.

“Sure, but I doubt they’re going to send this weapon to blow up the world in the next four hours.” Steve glanced at Tony but didn’t say anything in response.

“Let’s go over the plan.” He sighed dejectedly, the whole team turning their attention to the open floor-plan laid across a table in the middle of the jet. 

“We’ll enter through an underwater entrance here,” Steve gestured to the map, “it’s the only entrance possible. From there, there are three hallways. Nat and Wanda will take the left one, Clint and Sam will take the one on the right, and Tony and I will take the one in the middle.” Everybody nodded. 

“We meet back up at the central point once our areas have been cleared, use the comms if you need back-up.” He glanced around at the team, a hard look in his eyes.

“Capture if you can, but remember, if you find this weapon Fury was talking about, destroy it by whatever means necessary.” 

Everybody stilled at that, an uncomfortable and tense silence fell over the room. Tony glanced out the window as he watched the scenery below him change. 

Whatever Hydra had waiting for them, they’d be ready. 


	2. Under the Same Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few meetings take place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! I hope wherever you are you're able to stay warm and dry, and if you're one of my US friends, I hope you're having a relaxing long weekend! Here's this chapter, I'm not totally happy with it, but that's okay, it be like that, ya' know? 
> 
> Happy reading, and thank you all so much for your comments and kudos!

The Avenger’s grand entrance into the Hydra base happened both too fast and in slow motion. One minute, they were suiting up in the quinjet, ready to infiltrate the base, the next they were hovering right above a concealed tube, poking a few feet above the water, that would allow them to slide into the base unnoticed. 

Even though they were dry and inside, staring at the cooling, darkening water of the ocean made Tony anxious. He watched as the waves lapped at the coast, angry, as though they understood what evils simmered below the surface. the waves roaring around them, deafening as they crashed against gray rocks. Tony hadn’t even seen the base and it gave him anxiety. He couldn’t even imagine working, training, living deep under the water. 

Wanda gasped beside him as the jet finally began to hover in a resting position. Tony tried to recall the floor plan he had seen. It was big, only one level, but it almost matches the compound in terms of square feet. The whole thing composed of a series of convoluted hallways and tunnels. 

Whatever Hydra might have been keeping here they wanted it hard to get to. 

The team didn’t seem to be fairing much better, everybody’s eyes trained on the rusted metal tube that would lead to  _ something _ . Something Nick Fury believed was capable of destroying the world as they knew it. 

“Everybody remember the plan?” Steve asked softly, shaking the whole team out of their stupor. Tony nodded, distantly noting that even Steve looked a tiny bit afraid, an unusual wrinkle in his forehead signaling his mood. The team circled together around the door that would allow them to enter the base. Eyes all trained on the ground, nobody daring to make eye contact. Tony felt his heartbeat pick up. 

It was suddenly all very real: this wasn’t a regular mission. They weren’t going in to take down the base or question some low-level officials. 

They were here to  _ dispose _ of something. 

Completely eradicate it. 

The Avengers weren’t assassins, not usually, and Tony felt himself almost praying that it was a weapon, not a person. He was Tony Stark, for god’s sake. He understood weapons and machines. They made sense to him. He could understand how to work without whatever tech Hydra tried to throw at him. 

But people? 

People were a whole other ballpark. 

Steve unscrewed the latch that would open the pathway, the ocean spray flipping up into the jet, spraying the bottom of the floor with water, Steve’s voice barely audible over the sounds of the waves below. 

“Everybody remember the plan?” 

Silent nods. 

“Get in and get out, stick to your assigned areas and use the comms if necessary. Remember-- if you see anything dangerous, dispose of it,” his breath hitched ever so slightly on his next inhale, “it’s better safe than sorry.” 

And then he was gone. Falling through the sky for a moment, spine straight and arms crossed over his chest like he was lying in a coffin. He disappeared quickly, and Natasha followed wordlessly. One by one, his teammates slide into the base below, the darkness enveloping them as they fell through the air. 

Tony jumped last, making sure his faceplate was secure before he too was falling through the open air. Even though his suit, he could feel the cold, salty air whipping around his suit, droplets of ocean water splashing onto him like as open-air turned into rusty pipe. 

He hit the ground hard, his knees buckling on the impact. Immediately, his nose was infiltrated with the scent of saltwater and mildew, he wrinkled his nose, knowing the smell must’ve been absolutely rancid to be so strong through the suit. 

Upon standing, he glanced around. The walls and floors were all some sorts of steel, the metal was dull, and the ceiling was lined with dripping pipes. 

_ Drip.  _

_ Drip.  _

_ Drip.  _

There was one lightbulb every few yards, hanging freely, dimly lighting its section of hallway. There were no windows either, and for as far as Tony could see there weren’t even any doors, just a series of twisting hallways that never seemed to end. 

“God, Hydra really isn’t known for their interior decorating, huh?” Steve simply scoffed as Tony turned to face him, his eyes trained on one of the hallways. 

He gestured towards it. 

“I sent the rest of the team on their way, let’s head out.” Tony nodded, he recognized the terseness in Steve’s voice as the man started down on the middle halls. Tony followed, keeping himself alert for anything they might find. 

For almost five minutes it was completely silent. The silence unsettled Tony-- why would the Hydra base hosting the Next Big Thing be so quiet and empty? It wasn't just silent, it was completely empty. There was nothing: no people, no alarms, no rooms, and certainly no world-ending weapons. 

He and Steve turned left again, probably their twelfth left in since they had entered the base, and suddenly, the scene changed: a series of doors began to line the hallways, each one thick, with a small window in the middle. Steve turned back towards him and Tony nodded, urging him forward.

The rooms were all empty, every single one. Steve pushed the first one open, and it looked like some sort of training room, weights lined up against the walls in varying degrees of heaviness. 

That’s how it continued, each new room had something new, a different focus. There was a room with a small ropes course. Another filled with targets and different types of weapons-- guns, and knives and arrows lying haphazardly around the room. There was one more door on the left, before the hallway curved again. 

Steve pushed against it with all his might, the door clattering as it fell to the ground. Steve entered cautiously after that, but just like the rooms before it, it was completely empty. 

This one was different, though. It didn’t look like any sort of training room; instead, it looked like the world’s most sinister doctor’s office. 

A single examination table stood in the middle of the room, the gray leather padding stained with some sort of blue substance Tony had never seen before. It was dark, but it was clear that there were six or seven bright lines hanging above, easily the most lighting they had seen thus far. There were cabinets against the far wall, and Tony immediately began tugging them open. 

They were filled with all sorts of things: he counted almost twenty syringes, about a dozen scalpels, and a few tiny vials of the same blue substance that was staining the table in the middle of the room. He picked it up and rubbed it between his fingers. 

“Should we take this?” He asked Steve offhandedly, already preparing to hand it off to the other man. Steve looked at for a moment and nodded. 

“I’ve never seen anything like it, why not?” He gently took it from Tony’s hands, holding it up towards the dim light coming from the hallway. Tony didn’t know what it was, and really, it didn’t matter, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was necessary. 

“We sure this is the one Fury was talking about?” Tony asked. They had combed countless rooms, and he hadn’t seen anything worth noting, and it wasn’t like Hydra to leave a base empty like this. 

“I’m sure it is,” Steve said firmly, and Tony turned to look back at him, raising his eyebrows behind the mask. Steve must’ve gotten the memo because he quickly added: 

“It’s unlike them to leave a base undefended like this, but if there was something really important here, wouldn’t they want all hands on deck getting it out and away? The second they heard us, they probably would’ve called everybody--” Steve paused suddenly, shoulder’s tensing. 

He wrapped one hand more tightly around his shield, holding up a finger for Tony to stay silent even though he had no plans on speaking. He strained his hearing, but it was no use: he didn’t have super-hearing as Steve did, the base sounded just as silent as usual. They were both still for a moment, barely breathing before a high voice behind Steve interrupted them. 

“Hey-- no need to stop, I was just enjoying your theory.” Tony’s hand flew up to heart, the unexpected voice sending a jolt of panic through his chest. He turned to the voice as Steve did, and he almost jumped back when he saw somebody standing in the doorway. 

A very small somebody. 

The figure was wearing a merlot colored spandex costume, it clung to their body, revealing the thin wire muscle and the subtle jut of their ribs-- it was alarming, Tony had never seen somebody so thin, yet muscular. There was a small spider logo in the middle of the suit, and Tony could tell that there was a Hydra logo on the left arm. The figure’s face was covered with a matching red mask, but black matte framed comically round eyes, shrouded in white fabric. Whoever it was was definitely a few inches shorter than Tony, and Tony had to have had at least sixty pounds on them. He steadied his arms, no way this pipsqueak was a threat. 

He was wrong. 

The figure extended one arm out like they were in slow motion, fingers curling around their palm. They pressed down and suddenly there was thick, white webbing spraying from their wrist, right towards Tony. The webbing wrapped around his hands, pulling them together. Tony gave an experimental tug to his now bound together wrists, but they didn’t budge. The realization dawned on him suddenly, as he stared down at the thick webbing. 

It was the exact same as the webbing found on each of the crime scenes Fury had shown them. 

_ This _ was it.  _ This _ was their weapon.

Steve seemed to realize it too, and he wasted no time lunging towards the figure, but it was no use. Tony watched in fear as the figure grabbed Steve’s wrist with one hand, as though it barely took any effort, and took hold of his shield with the other. Steve and the figure locked eyes, unmoving, posture calm and still like he hadn’t even broken a sweat. The realization floated around Tony’s mind like clockwork, not leaving a whole lot of room for anything else. 

_ This was what they were looking for. _

Steve didn’t back down, sending his left foot towards the figure. It jumped, quickly like it had seen Steve’s attack before it had happened. He landed silently back on the ground, and the white eyes of his mask narrowed. The weapon dropped Steve’s wrist long enough to web it against the wall, the same sticky substances pulling Steve with enough force that Tony heard his whole body hit the wall. 

“Honestly,” the figure said, and Tony was caught off guard as he listened to their voice, “I thought this would be harder.” He sounded so young, his voice still high-pitched and scratchy. The figure took a step back from Steve and glanced between Tony and Steve for a moment. For a moment, he was silent. 

Steve used the distance to his advantage, using his shield to cut through the webbing that kept him trapped to the wall. He sprung forward again, and the other figure should have been cornered, but Tony watched in horror as they jumped backward, feet landing firmly on the wall. He braced himself and began to climb up the. Steve looked transfixed as he watched the figure climb up onto the wall. He made a final jump, planting himself on the ceiling. 

For a moment, they just stared at each other, as though they had forgotten that Tony was in the room at all. 

“Who are you?” Steve asked finally, his voice quiet, as though he was talking to a scared animal, hands up like he wasn’t ready to attack/ The figure cocked his head to one side, and subconsciously Tony took note of how child-like the movement was when coupled with the sheer tininess of the weapon above him. 

“I’m your worst nightmare or something.” From his place on the ceiling, the figure shrugged, and Tony couldn’t help but snort, bringing the attention back to him. 

“‘Worst nightmare,’ really? You can’t think of anything less cheesy than that? What are you an Adam West Batman villain?” The figure held his gaze, and if Tony had been listening closely, he would have heard the tiny laugh that escaped from the weapon’s lips, high and child-like. 

“Says the man who calls himself Iron Man?” The figure questioned, a hint of amusement in his voice, “and you want to lecture me on cheesy?” He shrugged and then crawled towards a vent on the wall. They both knew that they needed to act, need to kill or at least apprehend this person but it was as if they were frozen to the spot. Steve and Tony both stood transfixed as the weapon crawled across the ceiling to a vent, popping it open with a problem. 

“This has been fun, really, but I have to go,” The figure waved, unsticking one of their hands from the ceiling, “I’ll see you later, ya’ know when I’m inevitably sent to kill you.” 

And then he pulled himself into the vent and out of sight. 

Tony turned to Steve as the man rushed towards him, cutting off the webbing on his hands with his shield. Neither said anything for a moment as Steve helped him to his feet, the confusion and wonder laying thick around them. For the first time, the comms crackled to life. 

“All clear here, Any sign of this weapon?” Sam’s voice echoed through. Tony sighed loud enough for it to echo back as he gazed up at the vent. 

“Yeah,” He spoke finally, “we just missed him.” 

. . . 

Peter scampered through the vents, moving without thinking as he made his way to the jet that would take him off to whatever base Hydra would relocate to until they could come back to this one. He moved on autopilot, having long since memorized the layout of the base, his mind wandering back to his altercation with Iron Man and Captain America. 

When Agent Kent had asked him to suit up that morning, Peter had done so without asking any questions, even though it seemed a bit odd. He had quickly been informed that the Avengers had found their base, and although they didn’t know what there were looking for-- it was important that they didn’t find anything useful. 

Peter had simply nodded, his mission thrumming through his body like his blood. 

_ One. _ Do not let the Avengers take anything from the base. 

_ Two _ . Avoid alerting them to your presence until it is necessary. 

_ Three _ . Do not kill them. 

It had, all in all, been pretty easy. Peter probably didn’t  _ need _ to have a full discussion with Iron Man and Captain America but, whatever-- the directions had been pretty vague. 

_ And,  _ a voice whispered, one of the ones he tried to ignore, _ it’s kind of nice to talk to somebody who isn’t with Hydra, even if they’re your sworn enemies.  _

Peter pushed that voice down, back into the dark corner of his mind that it lived it, just loud enough to jump to the front of Peter’s subconscious from time to time. It was the voice that whispered to him every time he finished a mission or was punished by Hydra: what if everything he was doing was wrong? 

He tried to ignore it, for the most part. After all, he was Hydra’s weapon, they created him, trained him into the asset he had become. They had been kind enough to take him in, feed him and clothe him when nobody else wanted too, and that wasn’t something he could ever forget. 

Not that they would let him. 

And so, he tried not to think about it: the repercussions of his actions, or the outside world, or what his life could have been. It didn’t matter. He was Peter. He was the Spider. That’s what mattered now. 

He thought back to his admittedly brief run-in with the Avengers, and he was shocked. They hadn’t seemed scary, at least not really. Hydra had told him that the Avengers were a group of people who were hyper-focused on destroying all of Hydra’s hard work, but they hadn’t seemed like that. They had seemed just like regular people. 

He took a right, shoving himself through the top of the vent, knowing it would lead him to the jet. He crawled quickly to the underbelly of the jet, lifting himself through the bottom hatch. 

Quickly, he flipped up into the jet, landing in the middle of the floor. He glanced around, but no eyes were on him. He made his way to Agent Kent and Agent Wagner, who were sitting side by side at the back of the jet. They looked at him as he approached, and he wasted no time dropping to his knees in front of them and placing his hands behind his back-- consciously making sure he was always lower than them. 

“Mission report?” Agent Wagner asked after a few moments of silence. 

“All aspects of the mission were successfully completed, Agent Wagner,” Peter kept his head down, eyes studying the black combat boots of his superiors, “The Avengers did not take anything, and I was able to establish contact with Iron Man and Captain America, but they are unaware of the extent of my abilities.” 

“Very well, Spider.,” Agent Kent concluded, “we will be arriving soon, you may prepare for take-off.” 

“Thank you, Superiors.” Peter nodded at them. He didn’t bother to stand, instead of crawling to the empty space between the two agents’ legs, turning his back to the seats and kneeling. Peter wasn’t allowed to sit on the seats on any of the jets-- his superiors believed that he deserved to stay on the floor. 

It was a reminder of his place. 

A way to remind him where he belonged. 

Though Peter wasn’t sure where they were headed or how long it would take, he didn’t ask, resigning himself to counting and thinking until he was given directions otherwise. He stayed like that for over twelve thousand seconds, before the jet was touching down. 

“Meet in briefing room three, Peter.” He responded on autopilot. 

“Yes, Agent Wagner.” 

Once the jet had emptied, and each of Peter’s superiors had gotten off, Peter stood up, wincing as his legs protested from the sudden use. He exited the jet and glanced around, but he had never seen this base before. He shook it off-- it didn’t matter where he was. 

It wasn’t difficult to find briefing room three, but Peter was shocked to see both his superiors already there. Quickly he put himself at attention, a few feet from them. They sat in silence for almost two minutes before Agent Kent finally spoke. 

“We have spoken to the highest-ranking officials of Hydra.” Peter nodded silently, urging Agent Kent to continue. 

“And it has been determined that in order for us to continue for Hydra’s mission to be achieved, the Avengers will need to be disposed of,” he was silent for a few moments, “This is where you come in, Peter.” 

He felt his entire body freeze. 

_ No, no, no, no, no, no.  _

_ He couldn’t do this.  _

_ Not yet.  _

“In the coming days, we will stage an assassination, one the Avengers are sure to be aware of. You can take the target out if you want, it doesn’t matter. You will get captured by the Avengers, and from there you will be able to successfully take them out from within their own compound, do I make myself clear, Peter?” Peter nodded, trying to ignore the white-hot fear that bubbled up into his throat as he nodded. 

“Yes, superior, I understand.” 

“This is the most important mission you will complete during your time at Hydra, and unless you would like to be reset, I suggest you succeed. You will have two months from today to successfully execute your plan.” Agent Wagner continued. 

Peter nodded again, forcing himself not to shake as the reality of being reset sank in. 

“Just to make it completely clear, if you fail this mission, the consequences will be far worse than anything the Avengers could do to you.” 

He swallowed loudly enough for it to be heard around the room, but Agent Wagner continued on, as though she hadn’t heard him. 

“If you fail this mission, Spider-- you will wish the Avengers had killed you. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Superior, I understand perfectly.” He kept his eyes trained on his still spandex covered feet, ignoring the slight shake in his voice, completely oblivious to the hungry-looking smirk that overtook Wagner’s blood-red lips. 

“A guard will take you to your temporary quarters. Hail Hydra, spider.” 

“Hail Hydra, superiors.” 

And with that, his superiors left, marching by him without so much as a glance back at the boy they might as well have sentenced to death. 

Once they had left, Peter turned around and headed out the door, silently following the guard that turned away from him the second he had left the room, every step felt like Peter was on his own death march. He couldn’t shake the idea that this was the last mission he would ever perform. 

The room he was staying in was identical to the one from Hydra. Stainless steel bed, dresser, desk, and a tiny bathroom. He sat down on the bed, picking at the threadbare gray blanket on the bed as his brain screamed around him. 

One side of him was jumping with pride. This was _ it _ , Hydra had been training him for this moment for the last eleven years, it was time. He could do this. The Avengers were stopping Hydra at every turn, and maybe, if Peter got rid of them, he would finally get a little respect around here. 

He could do this. 

The other side; however, was scared shitless. Sure, he could take down two of the Avengers, maybe all of them, but on their home turf, while he was considered a prisoner? There was no way he could do it. He was going to die. He wouldn’t survive this mission. 

He changed out of his spider suit, and grabbing a pair of black sweatpants and a black shirt, he trailed into the bathroom, letting the cold water rush over him as he tried not to think about his next mission.

But even as he washed up and changed, and ate his cold dinner of steak and potatoes, and laid in bed, willing himself to go to sleep, the reality sat heavy in his stomach: 

He would never come back from this. 

. . . 

Nick Fury was slumped over in the same chair he had stood in front of a day before, hands rubbing his temples as Tony and Steve recounted, for what felt like the millionth time, that  _ yes, _ they had found the weapon, and  _ yes _ , it was a person, and  _ yes _ , they did interact with it for a handful of minutes and  _ no _ , they didn’t capture it. 

“So, to clarify,” Fury asked, in a tone that made it very clear he had no interest in clarifying, “this weapon, whoever it is, is so strong that it successfully took down  _ both _ of you, and  _ neither _ of you considered calling for backup?” Steve nodded sheepishly, while Tony stared down at his shoes. 

“It was jarring, they were literally crawling on the ceiling and shooting webs at us, it made it a little difficult to respond.” Tony’s voice was harsh and cut through the tension in the room like a knife. Fury scoffed. 

“Well isn’t that just great,” he looked down at his watch, “at least we know what to expect. Now how do we get rid of it?” A million thoughts bubbled to the top of Tony’s throat, but Steve spoke first. 

“He seemed pretty small, and yeah, he was good, but I don’t think we should make the assumption that he’s fully pro-Hydra, I mean, maybe if we could just talk to him--” 

“No, Rogers, listen to yourself. This thing took out two avengers while barely raising a finger, we don’t have the option to just ‘talk’ to it anymore, we can’t take a risk like that. We need it gone.” Steve nodded, a dejected understanding crossing his features. 

“If we could get him subdued, I don’t think it would be all that difficult to eradicate him.” Tony added after a few moments of tense silence, “We didn’t see the extent of his abilities by any means, but I don’t see why, if he was incapacitated, we couldn’t take him.”

“If we run into him again, I’m sure I could help with that,” Wanda spoke for the first time, all eyes on her as she shrugged. Fury nodded, seemingly at least a bit content with the Avengers for once. 

“I’ll keep agents on the case, hopefully, they’ll be able to track where Hydra’s taking it, no doubt they’ll be making bigger moves now that they know their biggest weapon is on our radar.” Fury stood up suddenly, heading for the door. 

“We’ll be in touch. Until we dispose of this weapon-- it’s safe to say we’re all in danger.” 

And with that, he was gone, leaving the Avengers in the same terse silence he had arrived to. 


	3. The Dead of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit this a chapter, y'all. A lot of major plot points are starting here, and it's about 23 pages long, so I hope you enjoy it! I'm not entirely happy with it at points, because I could never decide what scenes should be in who's pov, but that's okay.  
This is my last chapter until after the new year, so I hope you enjoy it, let me know what you want to see!  
also, my tumblr is: spiclergwen

Peter did not usually dream. By the time his head hit the pillow, he was always so worn out that his brain couldn’t process anything further. Sleeping became a type of oasis then, he didn’t have to think, or act, or process, or stand at attention constantly awaiting instructions. Peter’s very life-- his humanity and personality, was at stake every moment he was awake. But when he was sleeping? 

When he was asleep he was free. 

Nothing but him and the blackness. 

But when Peter did dream, it was always a disgusting, horrifying experience. One the left his sheets drenched his sweat and his whole body shaking as the colors and shapes of his past slowly receded from his vision, leaving him with a dark room and a pounding heart. 

He had asked Agent Wagner about dreaming once after she had found him after a nightmare, one so bad he had wet the bed, not too long after he had arrived at Hydra, and only a few days after they had done  _ whatever  _ it was they had done to him. 

_ “Agent Wagner?” His voice was quiet and he stared down at his bare feet, everything was new to him, but he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to look at adults-- superiors, he was supposed to call them-- when he wasn’t being asked too.  _

_This new place was weird, and it was a whole lot different from living with his auntie and uncle, but it was his new home, and they said they were doing what was best for him. __  
_ _Agent Wagner was standing in the other corner of the room, her eyes trained on the wall. One of the guards who always stood outside Peter’s door had alerted her to his crying, and while Peter didn’t remember what had been happening, he did remember the way the heavy slap to his face had awoken him. _

_ “Peter.” She acknowledged, not even sparing a glance at him.  _

_ “Do you--” He stuttered as she finally glanced up at him, icy blue eyes filled with something so angry Peter flinched back. He bowed his head in silent apology. _

_ “Permission to ask a question, superior?” He corrected, ignoring the way tears sprang to his eyes.  _

_ “Yes, but if you keep forgetting your training and proper protocol, we’ll stop granting you exceptions.” Peter nodded his understanding, took a deep breath, and asked:  _

_ “Why do I get scary dreams sometimes?” Agent Wagner crossed the room in a few short steps and sat on the floor next to Peter. She laid a careful hand on his back, and he had to make a conscious effort not to lean into her touch. Her voice was soft when she spoke, like his mommy or auntie May when he scraped his knee at the park.  _

_ “Because Peter,” she rubbed a deceptively gentle circle between his shoulder blades, “you’re not good enough, and you don’t always do what is asked of you. If you were better, you wouldn’t have dreams anymore.” Her voice sounded almost apologetic as she moved her free hand to cup Peter’s jaw, lifting his chin up.  _

_ “If you work harder, and do what we ask, maybe your dreams will go away.” Peter nodded fervently, Agent Wagner’s words rustling around his skull.  _

_ “If I work harder and listen, will I be better? Will I be good enough?” He felt his back straighten a bit at the idea-- all he wanted was to be good enough! Agent Wagner laughed then, tight and high as she gazed into Peter’s eyes, one hand still on his jaw.  _

_ “No, Peter,” her voice stayed the same light, apologetic tone until it turned suddenly hard, “you will never be good enough.”  _

_ And with that, she left, leaving Peter alone to fall back into an uncomfortable sleep, in the same wet sheets as before. _

Peter preferred not dreaming, the nothingness was a nice change from the constant racing of his mind. It was one of his last nights before he would be sent on what was basically a suicide mission to kill the Avengers, and there was nothing he wanted more than to fall into the sweet embrace of darkness that would allow him not to think for a few hours. 

He wasn’t granted that privilege. 

Not tonight. 

Now that he was older, his nightmares grew from some creatures hiding in the dark into his real-life experiences, memories of his past whipping around him so vividly it was like he was reliving them. He shifted uncomfortably in bed, letting a gentle whine escape his lips as he hugged himself. The memory of his first punishment with Hydra, the origin of the first of  _ those _ words, was his nightmare tonight. 

He had been four. 

He couldn’t even remember what he had done, forgotten to straighten his back, or didn’t stand at attention correctly, it was something mundane. And Agent Kent had beat him for it. 

Bruised ribs. A broken wrist. A minor concussion. A bloody nose and a black eye. 

He had been four. 

Agent Kent yelled at him between hits, forcing Peter to cry out answers to his questions through the pain: 

Who do you belong to? 

And, 

Who knows what’s good for you? 

And,

Who owns you? 

And Peter, unbelievably young and small beyond belief, had curled in on himself as the abuse rained down on him, while he choked out the answer for every question. 

_ You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You.  _

He had been  _ four _ .

He wakes up in a cold sweat, and quickly takes a few steadying deep breaths, trying to get a hold of his rapidly beating heart. He tightens his grip on his shoulders, hugging himself as tightly as he could. Quickly, he blinked away the tears in his eyes as his breathing steadied. He rolled over, praying beyond hope that he would be able to fall back asleep. 

But the universe had never been that kind to Peter. 

He stared at the ceiling instead. 

. . .

“Do we really have too?” Clint asked as he struggled with his tie, Natasha rolling her eyes before coming over to tie it for him. 

“For the last time, yes, we really have too,” Steve responded from across the common room, tying the laces on his brown dress shoes as he did so. It had been a few days since the Avengers had invaded the Hydra base in Maine, but nothing had come of it since each of their days spent suspended in the constant feeling of  _ what’s next _ ? 

“I’m actually with Legolas on this one,” Tony added as he picks up his suit jacket from the back of one of the plush couches, “I mean, it’s a normal old gala, why do we need to go?” Wanda jerked her head towards Tony as if to say: 

“I agree with him.” Steve sighed as he glanced around the room, standing up. 

“Fury thinks that Hydra’s going to attempt something at the gala, he says the weapon might be there, and he doesn’t want us missing it a second time.” Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Sure, and if it’s not? What if it’s a diversion, and they’re actually planning something else?” 

“There’ll be plenty of important people there tonight,” Natasha added conversationally as she stepped away from Clint, admiring his tie before stretching forward to straighten it, “if they were planning something, this might actually be a good time to act.” 

“Thank you, Natasha.” Steve added as he began walking towards the door, “now let’s go, I don’t want to deal with Fury if we’re late.” 

Tony rolled his eyes but obeyed, following Steve to the garage in the compound, ready to be bored out of his mind for the next four hours. 

. . . 

When it was time to leave, Peter was as ready, ish. Agent Kent and Agent Wagner had helped Peter plan the mission, it was clear enough: get captured by the Avengers, learn the weakness of the compound and then kill them. His superiors had requested he make all the deaths as quick as possible, but Peter was still unsure. 

Hydra had never taught Peter about the Avengers, not in any meaningful way, and that was part of the difficulty he was now facing: he didn’t know anything about his enemies. He knew their powers and abilities and a short, abridged history, but he didn’t know how the compound was run, or what their end goal was, or even; really, who they were. Peter knew that not knowing anything would come back to bite him in the ass. 

How do you kill some of the most powerful people in the world without knowing anything about them? 

The afternoon before the mission was going to take place, Peter was excused from training early, told that he needed to “get ready” he took his time for once, spending a few moments longer than necessary under the stream of freezing water, washing his hair with care. He changed into the spider suit because that’s the one his superiors had requested he wore. He frowned at the deep red spandex, as though it could understand the whirlwind of emotions in his mind. 

He attached his webshooters to his wrist, checking and double-checking that he had more than enough web fluid. Once he was fully dressed, he made his way back into the bathroom, and for a moment he just stared at himself at the dirty and cracked mirror that greeted him. 

He dropped his mask onto the counter, running one hand through his brown curls while his other hand slowly caressed his face, feeling his fingertips run across his nose and cheeks. He leaned into the mirror, staring at the few freckles that lightly dotted his skin. He glanced at the clock above his bed and found himself silently grateful that he still had ten minutes. 

Fingertips still pressed to his cheek, he turned back to the mirror, drinking in his own features. Peter usually tried to avoid mirrors. It had never mattered what he looked like; and, deep down, he knew he didn’t want to see himself. 

Something about seeing himself came with an overwhelming sense of shame. While Peter didn’t really understand what it meant for him to be around “fifteen”, he knew he was younger than everybody else at the base, and there was a sort of youth his features that made him want to vomit whenever he saw it. He had seen other people around his age before, and they never… looked or acted anything like him. 

They never seemed to have an impossible burden on their shoulders. 

The realization almost made him shutter, and distantly he wondered if his life was supposed to be different. If everything was supposed to be different. He met his own eyes in the dirty mirror before pressing a hand against the glass as if he could ask himself. 

_ What happened to me?  _

The question echoed in his head before he could stop it, and he desperately wanted to push that voice back down where it had come from. He didn’t have time to be thinking like that. Besides, he already knew that it was no use. He was what he was. 

Tears pooled in his eyes as a sob bubbled up into his throat. Peter quickly stumbled over to the shower, turning in on quickly, in hopes that the sound of the rushing water would drown out the sobs that rushed out of him before he could stop it. 

He stumbled back the mirror, using the counter the steady himself before he collapsed. It took a monumental amount of strength for him to raise his head and face himself again. He looked so mismatched. Curly brown hair and a still chubby face with a few light freckles. Dark bags under his eyes and a deep purple bruise on his neck from his training earlier. 

Peter didn’t look like Hydra’s biggest asset. 

_ But you are, cut this shit out.  _

Another voice echoed, loud and angry. Before he could think about what he was doing, Peter lifted one of his hands from the table and punched the mirror, letting the pieces shatter around him as he curled up onto the floor again. He allowed himself to cry for a few moments, but he didn’t know why he was breaking down now: was it his very possible imminent death? Was he mourning for something he was supposed to be? Was he angry at himself for breaking down in the first place? 

He picked himself up and turned off the shower only a minute before Agent Wagner entered his room. He was careful to pick up the glass and place it in a careful pile, hoping she wouldn’t see it. Peter had positioned himself on the bed, sitting with his legs crossed and his head down as Agent Wagner burst in. 

She approached him, but Peter was careful to keep his head down, studying his spandex-clad feet. 

“Spider.” She greeted, a sign that the mission was on. 

“Yes, superior?” 

“It is time, follow me.” Wordlessly, she turned and left the room, knowing Peter wasn’t too far behind her. He followed her into a garage, where she quickly ushered him into a black car with dark windows. He slid into the back seat, allowing himself to lean against the leather seats. 

Peter had always preferred traveling by car, he was actually able to sit in the seats and he greatly enjoyed getting to stare out the window, it was rare he got to see the real world, and he was always grateful for the opportunity. The outside world may be disgusting and dirty and in need of correcting as Hydra had told him, but Peter had always found it secretly fascinating. 

The city sky was dark as Hydra entered New York, but Peter still enjoyed looking around at the tall buildings with the neon lights. It stirred something deep inside him as if he had known this place long ago. Quickly, he pushed down the curiosity and yearning, trying to ignore the way his stomach rolled at the thought. 

The car turned into a dark alley and parked there. Agent Wagner and Agent Kent turned around from the front two seats to look at Peter, as he tried not to wither under their gazes. 

“The Avengers are a few blocks that way.” Agent Wagner pointed north, “you’re going to fake a hit on Secretary Keller, he’s a double agent and he’s expecting you. He’s going to alert the Avengers to your presence, and then he is going to lead them to you.” Peter nodded his understanding. 

“We will see you in two months, Spider. Hail Hydra.” Agent Kent added as Peter tugged the spider mask over his face. 

“Hail Hydra.” He replied as he left the car, he glanced around the alley for any sign of working cameras, but he saw none, and he quickly scaled the wall. From the top of the building, he was able to see a large red carpet, leading into a fancy looking building. Peter jumped a few rooftops until he was only one away. He watched as the journalists mill about, and he found himself thanking his advanced hearing as he heard one say: 

“The Avengers arrived a few moments ago, fans of the superhero team are very excited--” Peter stopped listening as he sat down just out of sight. 

. . .

Inside, Natasha eyed Secretary Keller oddly as the Avengers took their seats at one of the many round tables. Her fellow teammates glanced around the room, eyeing the gold and white decorations, or staring in awe at some of the people who were present. 

“Nat, you okay?” Steve asked, bringing everybody’s attention to the two. Natasha simply shrugged and nodded at Steve.

“Look at Secretary Keller,” she dropped her voice down to a whisper so that only the Avengers could hear it, “doesn’t he look… scared?” 

Sure enough, Agent Keller was pacing quickly in a darkened corner of the room, rubbing his hands together as he shook his head, as though arguing with himself. He looked up at the Avengers, meeting their eyes. As quickly as he had looked at them, he looked away, resuming his pacing. 

“That is weird,” Clint said, his eyes never once leaving the secretary. 

“It’s none of our business,” Tony added quietly. Clint nodded, but Natasha cocked her head to one side and looked at Tony. 

“I don’t know…” she said suddenly, “I’ll keep an eye on him.” Tony rolled his eyes but nodded anyway. 

Secretary Keller didn’t stop pacing for the next hour, glancing up periodically to look at the Avengers table, as though he wanted to make sure that at least one of them was watching him. Once the gala was in full swing-- people talking and laughing and dancing and definitely not paying attention-- Secretary Keller caught Natasha’s eye, his look hardened from one of nervousness to one of understanding, and he jerked his head towards one of the side exits, before he left through the side door. 

Natasha stood up almost immediately, ignoring the looks of her confused team. 

“I’m following him.” She informed them, ignoring Steve’s call of “wait-- let’s make a plan first--” 

Clint stood up and followed her while the other turned towards one another. 

“Should we go?” Sam asked quietly. 

“We don’t want to draw attention by all leaving,” Steve responded.

“But they might need help!” Wanda argued. For a moment they all just stared at each other. It was Tony who broke the silence. 

“I’ll go check on them, if anything seems amiss, I’ll use the comms. If we’re not back in five, come out.” Steve nodded, but Tony barely noticed as he stood up and headed towards the exit that Natasha and Clint had exited through just a few moments before. 

Natasha didn’t know what to expect when she followed Secretary Keller into the alley behind the gala, but she definitely didn’t expect to see him standing completely unarmed, smiling at her and Clint when they opened the door. 

“Natasha. Clint.” He nodded, “I’m glad you were paying attention, I was afraid you wouldn’t follow me.” His body language had lost all of the nervousness it had been projecting before. They two Avengers shared a glance, both realizing that something was  _ off _ about this. 

Clint’s hands immediately reached towards the panic button on the inside of his watch, knowing it would alert the rest of the Avengers, but before he could press the button, there was a swift kick that sent him falling to the ground with a groan. 

Natasha patted down her thighs for a weapon as Clint fell to the ground, blood running cold as she realized she had left her only knife in her purse that was back at the table. Another yell from Clint shocked her out of her panic, and she turned towards him. He was engaged in a fistfight with some sort of spandex covered figure. 

The figure was shorter, nearly a head shorter than Natasha, and they were skinny in a way that she had never seen before-- thin, but coated in muscle. She rushed towards the figure, but not before they had thrown Clint again the wall. She watched in horror as the figure raised their wrist, and  _ webbed _ Clint in place. 

She put it together quickly after that-- the webbing a clear indicator. This was their weapon. The one Steve and Tony had missed in Maine. They turned towards her next, cocking their head to one side in a mirror of Natasha’s body language. 

She struck first, but they were unbelievably quick and blocked her punch with ease. She swung her legs towards the figure who was still holding her wrist, but they jumped before the hit could connect, as though they could sense it coming. Natasha prided herself on her poker face, but she must’ve been slipping, because the figure looked at her wild expression and simply shrugged, before throwing her against the opposite wall and webbing her in place.

Natasha struggled against the sticky webs, but they were strong and didn’t budge, she glanced around the alley, cursing silently as she realized that Secretary Keller had made a run for it. 

“Nice to see you again.” Tony’s voice echoed from the doorway, dripping with sarcasm. The figure, who was leaning up against the wall and fiddling with the gun in his hand, looked up, oddly casual. 

“Hello, Mr. Stark,” He greeted, as though Tony was an old friend he used to get tea with, “it’s great to see you again.” 

“I don’t know if I can say the same,” Tony remarked as he fiddled with his watch, pressing a button as the gauntlet formed around his hand, he raised it in front of him, effectively keeping the other in place. Natasha felt the familiar buzz of her own watch-- a sign that somebody had activated the panic button, it would be only a few minutes before all the Avengers were present. 

She looked back at the masked figure, and he didn’t seem concerned, even while Tony held him where he was. He was good at masking his emotions, even Natasha believed for a moment that he was completely unaffected, but she was good at reading people, and she could tell that the figure was… scared? 

The way the eyes of the mask seemed bigger than before as they looked at Tony, the quiet tapping of their feet again the broken concrete, it was as if they were nervous. 

Why would they be so nervous? They could run easily, especially if Tony and Steve were right, and the figure could scale walls. 

In fact, why were they hanging around at all? They could easily leave if they wanted. 

“Gosh,” The figure remarked, voice cracking slightly, “And here I thought you’d be excited to see me.” The white eyes of their mask got larger, as though they were a curious child. 

The door beside Tony bust open at that exact moment, as Steve, Wanda, and Sam came running out. The figure made a move into a fighting position, but he didn’t move to ask quickly as he had with either Client or Natasha. 

It was no use, anyway. Wanda was ready, and before the figure could even move, they were falling to the ground. Steve rushed forward to grab them and for a moment, nobody moved. 

“That was easy,” Sam remarked, eyeing the unconscious figure with a confused look.

“Yeah, it was.” Steved frowned as he looked down at the mask, as though he was unsure of what to do next. 

“Can we talk about this later? Maybe get us down now?” Clint asked, annoyed as he struggled against the webs. Sam rushed forward and produced a knife from his pocket cutting Clint down before moving over to her. Her feet dropped to the ground as Wanda threw her purse, Natasha catching it with ease. 

The same car that had dropped them off stopped near the entrance of the alley, and when the window is rolled down, Maria Hill was staring at them. 

“Let’s go,” She said, “We can’t kill it here.” Natasha felt herself bristle slightly at the use of the word “it” but she nodded and followed the Avengers to the car, careful to conceal Steve, who still had the unconscious figure in his arms.

“How’d you know we needed out?” Sam asked eyes never leaving the dark red spandex. 

“All of the Avengers leave an event within a few minutes of each other? We knew something was off.” Tony nodded, although it didn’t appear that he had heard her at all. 

“Should we remove the mask?” He asked, but Maria shook her head. 

“Since we have it, we might as well ask some questions, it might know something,” sensing his confused look, she added, “and we can use the mask as a bargaining chip.” Tony nodded. 

They spent the rest of the ride in silence. 

. . . 

When Peter awoke, he was alone. 

He looked up and found his own reflection looking back at him. The mask was still covering his face, and for that he was grateful. The suit was still in fairly good condition too, the fabric a little dirty, but normal. The web-shooters had been removed from his wrist, which put him into an almost immediate panic, it was incredibly rare he wasn’t wearing them. 

Peter starved off the panic for long enough to glance around the room. A voice reminded him: 

_ If you’re ever captured, pay attention to your surroundings, they might have the clues to your escape.  _

Peter may not have been planning an escape, but he knew the importance of learning one’s surroundings. The whole room was white, walls and floors almost identical. He was chained in a metal chair, with a metal table in front of him. He gave an experimental tug on the chains, but nothing budged. A silvery Avengers logo was boldly displayed against the wall to his right, and Peter couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the gaudiness of it all. 

He looked back at the mirror, and he immediately realized that it must be two ways, as he heard a whispering of voices on the other end. 

Natasha stared at the masked figure through the mirror as they woke up. She couldn’t tear her eyes away, even as her teammates filled the room and stood next to her. It was silent for a moment, all of their eyes trained on the weapon they currently had sitting in interrogation room three. 

“Fury is on his way,” Clint said finally, Natasha nodded, she had taken first shift watching the asset when they returned back to the compound, and she was grateful that they hadn’t taken too long to wake up, “He wants you to interrogate them.” Natasha nodded again. 

“Sounds good.” 

The room fell silent again, although it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, just the type that portrayed the general confusion of the room. 

Why did the masked figure come with them so easily? 

Why would Hydra make a move now? 

And, most importantly--

Who were they? 

The door opened again, as Nick Fury joined the Avengers in the too-small space. He looked at every single one of them, but allowed his gaze to fall onto Natasha, he was trying to convey something in his gaze, but she was too lost in thought to figure out exactly what. 

“You’ll come?” He asked her, and she nodded. 

“Since we have it,” he spoke slowly, turning away from her and towards the masked figure, who sat flexing his hands against the table, eyes cast downward, “I want information. Anything we can get.” Natasha went to nod again, but Fury continued before she could.

“This weapon has to be indispensable to Hydra, and I want it’s information by any means necessary.” She stalled immediately.

“I’m not sure--” He turned towards her. 

“I get it, you don’t want to torture it. But it’s a small price to pay for whatever information it has.” Natasha glared at him.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that.” 

Now it was Nick’s turn to nod. 

“Let’s go.” 

She headed out of the room with Fury as the other Avengers scrambled to sit down in chairs behind the mirror, ready for the interrogation to begin. 

Peter’s spidey-sense warned him of the approaching people a few seconds before they entered. He kept his head down as they sat across from him. 

A few moments passed by, before Peter slowly raised his head, staring at the two in front of him, trying to ignore the way his heart sped up as he looked at Director Fury and _ the _ Black Widow. 

Once again, Peter was grateful for his mask. He was good at controlling his emotions, sure, but he was always more comfortable when he didn’t have to worry about it. 

Fury started off. 

“What’s your name.” Peter simply shrugged. He knew how this game went: they would start with the easy questions, ones Peter wouldn’t care about, and then they would work their way up to what they really wanted to know. 

They didn’t care about him, not really. 

_ Like Hydra, _ a voice sneered, surprisingly bitter in the back of Peter’s mind, _ they only care about what you can do.  _

Fury sighed and asked again. Again, Peter simply shrugged. 

“Listen, we’re willing to resort to any means necessary to get information, don’t make this difficult so early on.” 

Peter did not indicate that he had heard Fury at all, looking past Fury at the mirror. Voices whispered behind the mirror again and wondered who it was. 

“The quicker you tell us the basic stuff, the quicker we can get you moved to a real room.” Natasha offered. Peter stilled but tried not too let it show. 

On one hand, a real room would give him a more permanent place to plan the rest of the mission. 

On the other hand, they were probably lying. 

Despite his neutral body language, Natasha saw through him.

“We’re not going to ask you about Hydra, at least not yet,” she ignored the incredulous look from Director Fury, “we just want to know a few things about you.” 

_ Not true,  _ Peter’s mind hissed,  _ there’s nothing about me worth knowing.  _

“What’s your name?” Fury tried again, and Peter thought about answering, the silence sinking heavily into the room. 

Fury stood suddenly and stalked over to Peter. He cocked his head to the side and looked at Fury, but looked just past his face. He stood above Peter, his voice low. 

“Answer the question and you can keep the mask.” Peter licked his lips behind his mask. He really, really, wanted to keep the mask on. But he didn’t want to give in to their demands so easily, and so, he stayed still and Fury’s hands came to the bottom of the mask and violently jerked it off of him.

Tony Stark felt like he was going to vomit. 

One minute, he was watching some asshole assassin silently judge Natasha and Fury, just some ridiculously powerful spandex-wearing prick. The next, the mask was off, clutched in Fury’s hands, and he was no longer looking at the face of some world-ending threat. 

_ No.  _

He was looking at a child. 

The mask fell to the table as Fury took his seat, but even his movements looked a little unsteady. 

Steve and Sam gasped beside him as the assassin’s face came into view, Clint dropped his head into his hands almost immediately, watching through his fingers. 

All the anger and confusion drained from Tony’s chest in a cataclysmic rush. 

That was a  _ kid _ . 

Basically an  _ infant _ . 

His head was still cocked to one side, like a curious child. He had a head of messy brown curls that was just a little too long to be well-groomed. His face was round and still filled with baby fat, brown eyes wide and shiny, still filled with something innocent. It all contrasted heavily with the dark bags and the split lip and the bruised neck. 

“That’s… that’s a kid.” Sam finally said into the silence, and Tony realized that neither Fury or Natasha had spoken, just stared at the unmasked figure in front of them. He bit back his retort.

“Yeah, it is.” Clint’s voice was filled with something broken that Tony couldn’t quite place. 

“We-- we can’t--” Sam gestured towards the kid, he didn’t have to say anything more, his intended sentence making Tony sick to his stomach without ever hearing it. 

_ We can’t kill a child.  _

“We won’t.” Steve said confidently, “we’ll figure it out.” 

. . . 

Peter hated pity. Always had. It wasn’t something he got a whole lot at Hydra, not since the beginning, and he had always been confused by the emotions he didn’t understand. And right now, he was getting pity. Even though Fury’s faux calm and Natasha’s poker face, the pity radiated off them in waves. 

He didn’t even know why. 

The mood had changed so suddenly, the feeling of “hard and fast and violent interrogation” faded into something completely different. Natasha sat forward, balancing her chin in her hands as she leaned towards him. 

“Kid,” she said, her voice softer and quieter than Peter had last heard it. 

_ It’s a trap. It’s a trap. It’s a trap.  _

“Don’t call me kid.” 

Behind the mirror, Tony cursed again. Jesus. How couldn’t they tell this was a child from their first interaction. His voice was high pitched and scratchy like he hadn’t even finished puberty. 

What the fuck did Hydra want with a kid? 

The realization hit him suddenly, again making bile crawl up its throat. 

That child had killed sixty-four people. 

_ How could anybody do that to a child?  _

Natasha leaned back as the kid snapped, and Tony knew immediately she had been thrown off her game. 

They all had been. 

“I’ll stop calling you kid if you give me a name.” 

The kid seemed to think it over for a minute, and when he spoke, his voice was so quiet that Tony almost missed it.

“Peter,” he whispered, looking down at his hands. 

“Peter,” Natasha repeated back, the words sounding impossibly soft coming from her.

“Last name?” Fury asked gruffly, but Tony could tell that even he had been shocked. The kid-- Peter-- shrugged.

“No.” His voice was soft, as though he was scared of using it, his voice just high enough to be another reminder of his unknown age. 

“How old are you?” Fury pushed. Peter scrunched up his eyes, as though he was thinking, Tony, watched as he displayed his hands, tapping gently on his fingers as though he was doing to the math. 

“Fifteen.” 

Tony’s heart cracked like a teacup. 

“Fifteen and sixty-four confirmed assassinations, you’ve been busy.” 

Tony watched the walls crawl up Peter’s expression, and he shrugged again, his stare was impossibly hard for somebody so young. 

Natasha glared at Fury and switched tactics. 

“What’s your birthday?” Peter shrugged again, this one almost… embarrassed. 

“I don’t have one.” Tony heard Steve swallow loudly behind him. 

“You don’t… have one?” Fury asked, annoyance seeping into tone once again. 

“No, I don’t need it,” Peter explained, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. Natasha looked like she wanted to press him, but Fury spoke before she could.

“Why do you murder for Hydra.” Peter’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, physically conveying the “really?” from across the table, but even Tony’s untrained eye caught the way the boy tensed at the mention of murder. 

He looked down at his hands again, as though saying a prayer. When he looked up, his expression had been replaced with something impossible to read.

“I just do what I’m told.” 

Without prompting, Natasha stood up and stalked out of the room. Fury glanced at Peter again and followed her. 

“This isn’t over.” 

Peter rolled his eyes.

The Avengers followed Fury as he exited the interrogation room, where Natasha was staring at a blank wall.

“What the hell--” Fury began to ask, but Natasha cut him off. 

“Not here. Conference room.” 

And with that, she turned at left, the Avengers following close behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't love the characterization towards the end, I wrote a whole other version that explores Peter's thoughts around losing the mask/revealing his name, but at the end, I preferred the drama and the unknown of seeing the Avenger's reaction. 
> 
> tumblr: spiclergwen


	4. Always Be Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers deal with Peter-- sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I'm so sorry that this chapter is so late. IDK if I've explained this here, but for reference: I go to college on the other side of the country, and winter break was my first time back home, so I was busy spending time with friends and family. I don't really love this chapter, it's the shortest so far (2800 or so words) and it's a filler, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyways. 
> 
> Your comments and kudos mean the world to me, thank you all so much for all the kind words!

The conference room was filled with an awkward silence, but not because nobody had anything to say. 

No, there was plenty to say. 

It was just, nobody had any idea how to say it. 

Tony swallowed hard again and looked around the room. They were all sitting in almost the exact same places they had been when they had first learned about Hydra’s latest asset. It startled Tony to think that it had only been a week ago. 

Everything had changed since then. 

His eyes drifted over to Natasha, the only one not sitting down. She was facing one of the large floor to ceiling windows, arms crossed tightly across her chest, back to the table as she stared out into the dark New York sky. She hadn’t moved since they had arrived at the conference room moments before. 

Despite her being the one who demanded they all head to the conference room, she remained silent as everybody sat down and got comfortable, content to let them wait for her. Instead, she focused on taking deep breaths, trying to keep her own panic attack at bay. 

_ That was a child, a child, achildachildaCHILD.  _

Her own childhood flashed before her eyes, memories of her time in the red room pressing down onto her chest as the recent events swirled around in her mind. 

Had he-- had Peter been raised the same way? She saw so much of herself in him: the fear masked by snarky confidence, the forced emotionlessness, the neutral body language hiding a whirlpool of emotions. 

Maybe that’s what it was like for all the child assassins. 

The thought itself made her shiver. Of course, intellectually she knew that she wasn’t the only person who had lost their childhood to the war, and death, and secrecy that came with being trained to kill, but emotionally-- she couldn’t fathom the idea that anybody had been treated like she had. 

She took another calming breath, focusing on the way the breath traveled down her throat and back out her mouth as she worked up the courage to turn back towards her team. 

Finally, she straightened her body language and turned back at the table. They all had the decency to at least pretend like they weren’t staring at her, but it was clear they were waiting for her to start. 

“That’s a kid in there.” She said finally, settling into her seat next to Clint. She was met with nods. She turned her attention to Fury, who was eyeing her with something that was part regretful, part curious. 

Natasha took a deep breath, willing herself to be strong. 

“I won’t torture a child.” 

Her teammates nodded, there wasn’t a need for any further conversation. For once, they all agreed without much debate: 

The Avengers wouldn’t torture a kid. Wouldn’t kill a kid. 

They weren’t those types of people, and they all knew it. 

Fury shifted in his seat, and Natash glanced over at him. He gave her the same look he always did before he gave her the bad news. 

“Romanoff,” he started off, voice devoid of any emotion, knitting his hands together in front of him as he spoke directly to her, “you don’t know what you might have to do.” 

The outrage came immediately, it exploded, white-hot, around the room. 

“You cannot seriously be okay with suggesting we torture a child?” Tony’s voice echoed across the table. 

“Fury, we can’t!” Steve sounded incredulous. 

“I have kids of my own man, no way,” Clint added with a sense of false calm. 

“Child or not, need I remind you, that’s a Hydra assassin that’s killed sixty-four people? He’s dangerous, and we have no idea what he might be capable of.” 

“But he’s a kid, Fury. We should at least give him the opportunity to change. He deserves that much.” Sam added, something dark and dangerous lacing his tone. 

Fury just shook his head, glancing around the room. 

“That’s a weapon. Probably with good intel.” 

“Fury,” Natasha demanded, waiting until he looked at her to speak. 

“I get it. You want to take down Hydra,” she motioned to the others, “so do we. You 

know that. But if there’s any chance we get that kid to our side…” she trailed off for a moment, before finding her voice once again, “we’re the Avengers, we try to save lives-- his is included in that mission.” 

“Who says he’ll even change sides?” Fury challenged, lifting an eyebrow as he also gazed around the room, “you’re all quick to assume that he can change.” Natasha swallowed loudly, her voices dropping to barely below a whisper. 

“You believed I could change, Fury. Extend that same courtesy to him.” Fury simply shrugged at that, before glancing down at his watch. 

“I’ll talk to Ross, see what I can do to let you keep the assassin, but I won’t make any promises, and besides,” He stood up suddenly, heading towards the door without even glancing back at the table, “our original plan still stands: I want information, and I trust he has it.” 

He left quickly, allowing the door to shut behind him with a loud bang. 

And with that, he was gone, leaving the Avengers to stare at one another in silence as he left. 

The silence from earlier settled around the room again, this time, it was broken Wanda, who had spoken for the first time since Peter had been unmasked in front of them. 

“We can’t let anything happen to him,” her voice was quiet, almost a whisper, “he deserves a clean slate if he wants one.” 

“I agree, Wanda. We won’t let anything happen to him.” Steve added definitively. 

“But we can’t just do nothing, can we?” Tony added, all eyes turning to him as he gestured wildly with his hands, “Fury wants information, and he doesn’t care what he needs to do to get it. If we want to keep Peter here, then we need to give Fury a reason to let him stay, neither he nor Ross would have any trouble continuing these negotiations at the Raft.” 

Wanda looked like she wanted to argue, but Sam quickly stepped in, 

“Tony is right. If we want Peter to stay here, we still need to get some information out of him. If we can intel without resorting to prison or torture, then we can control the situation.” 

“You can still drive with one hand on the wheel,” Clint muttered to himself, before addressing the rest of the room. 

“Natasha and I can continue with interrogation, see what we can get. Y’all coming?” Wanda shook her head, as did Tony. 

“I’m going to see if we can get a more permanent room set up,” Tony stood up, “see if we can make something up that’s less like a cell and more like a bedroom.” Natasha nodded and turned to Clint, standing to follow Tony out the door. 

“Let’s get this over with then.” 

. . . 

While the Avengers had left in a huff, Peter was left to berate himself. How could he be so stupid? Giving away his name  _ and _ his age? 

On one hand, he wasn’t supposed to give away any Hydra intel, and that included information regarding him. On the other hand, he knew he was nothing special. If the Avenger’s wanted to waste their time learning about him, who cares? 

He thought back to his mission, he tried to come up with the beginning of his plan, but it was hard to think over the hunger that was currently gnawing at his stomach. 

Sometimes, his super metabolism really sucked. 

Just like before, Peter’s spider-sense warned him of people approaching right before the door swung open. The Black Widow was back, but Director Fury was no longer with her; instead, Hawkeye followed her in and they sat in front of him once again. 

He flashed a cocky smile at them, willing himself to fall back into the familiar role of sarcastic, asshole assassin, all traces of his earlier small voice and scared demeanor vanishing. 

“It’s lovely to see you both again. Was Director Fury busy?” the faux conversational tone filling up the room, hot and uncomfortable. 

“Look, kid--” Hawkeye sounded exhausted already, leaning back in his chair as he attempted to be casual. 

“Don’t call me kid.” Peter snapped immediately, all traces of his cool confidence gone. The two superspies looked taken aback for a moment, but neither of them said anything, quickly pulling their professional masks on. 

“Peter.” Hawkeye spoke, ignoring the way Peter flinched slightly, “We want to help you.” Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t need your help.” He sneered, leaning as far back as he could, trying to keep up his calm demeanor, even though confusion was currently surging through his veins. 

_ Why would the Avengers want to help me? I’m nothing.  _

It was like the world’s most fucked up mantra. 

_ I’m nothing. I’m nothing. I’m nothing. I’m nothing.  _

When Black Widow began to speak again, Peter almost missed it, to focus on keeping up his calm facade. 

“If you don’t want to cooperate, we can make this a lot less fun.” She remarked casually, folding her hands in front of her. 

Of course, she was bluffing. She had no intention of doing anything to harm Peter, but she knew more than anyone else on the team that getting information out of Peter was necessary to keep him at the compound, and maybe, just maybe, using a more intense technique would work. 

Peter shrugged. That made sense: the Avengers saw him as a means to information, a key in taking down Hydra once and for all. They didn’t  _ care _ about him, they didn’t care what happened to him or what they had to do to him to get that information. 

_ Whatever _ . Hydra was the same way. 

Peter wasn’t a person or an important part of the conversation. He was just a means to an end. 

_ Whatever. _ It wasn’t like he didn’t know that. 

(But then why did their nonchalance sting so much)? 

He mirrored Black Widow’s body language carefully, folding his hands over one another carefully, the cool metal of his handcuffs stopping his perfect interpretation. 

“We don’t want to hurt you if it’s not necessary,” Clint added hastily, shooting a confused look at Natasha, “so let’s not think about that right now. First question: Why did you join Hydra?” 

_ Huh, _ Peter thought,  _ they’re still asking about me.  _

He knew he could use that to his advantage for at least the night: if they were focused on Peter, then he didn’t have to hide information about Hydra. In the long run, though, he would need to find a way to get them talking to him. 

Peter shrugged, resigning himself to tell half-truths. 

“I’ve been with Hydra since I can remember. They took me in, and I’m very grateful for that.” His answer was mechanical and he knew it, the superspies knew it too. It was a rehearsed answer, one that Natasha could already tell had been drilled into his head by Hydra. 

“Yeah?” She prodded, “did they always plan to do,” she motioned at him from across the table, “this to you?” 

“It’s not my place to question Hydra and what their plans are for me.” 

Clint suppressed a hiss. 

“But you must be the least bit curious, right?” It wasn’t a good interrogation question, not really, but he was curious about Peter, and he couldn’t help but want to understand what went on inside his head. 

“No,” Peter replied softly, knowing he was outright lying now, “Hydra is acting for the greater good. I have no right to question how they achieve their goals.”

“Hydra murders and tortures people-- you really think that makes them the good guys?” Natasha demanded, her hands unfolded and back into her lap.

“Sometimes the means justify the ends,” Peter shot back, “I know firsthand how awful some of the shit we-- I -- do is, but what makes you any different? Have you not threatened to torture me? Does that mean you can’t be the good guys either?” 

He tried to relax his face, realizing that his eyebrows had shot up almost to his hairline. Natasha and Clint exchanged a look before quickly changing paths. 

“How’d you get your powers, Peter?” Peter raised his eyebrows again. 

“Why would I mention that to you?” He questioned, tone accusing. He once again tried to push down the hunger that was threatening to overtake him. He ignored the way it made the lights brighter and his head lighter. 

“You’re not in a position to bargain,” Nasha added. Peter nodded. A few moments of silence passed between them.

“Experimentation.” He said finally, “I don’t know specifics.” Clint nodded, even though the answer was far from sufficient. 

As they continued to question him, the reality of the situation set in: 

Peter was a victim. 

It was clear in the way he answered questions, providing them with weird, brain-washed half-truths. The more Natasha listened to Peter talk about “the greater good” and “his place” the more she realized that it was incredibly unlikely he had any choice in joining Hydra.

Shit, he probably didn’t even know their real mission. 

Peter had just been explaining his daily diet-- one which was depressing as hell-- when the realization hit Natasha like a ton of bricks. 

“Peter,” she asked, the calmest she had been since the start, “Have we fed you?” Peter shook his head no. 

“It’s whatever.” He said, ignoring the way his stomach almost growled in protest. Natasha stood up almost immediately, Clint stood up a few moments later. 

“We’ll continue this after you eat.” She said, whisking Clint out of the room before Peter could say anything. 

Sam and Steve met her outside the interrogation room. 

“Well, that sucked,” Sam added helpfully as the four of them exited the basement and crammed on the elevator that would take them to the kitchen. 

“That’s the understatement of the century,” Clint added, rubbing his hands together nervously. Natasha knew this whole situation had to be hard on him, especially when he had kids of his own. 

“One minute he’s a highly dangerous weapon and the next he’s an abuse victim with Stockholm Syndrome,” Natasha muttered to herself as she sat down at one of the bar stools, watching as Sam began to rustle through the fridge, looking for something that could qualify as lunch. 

“What do you feed a kid who’s only ever eaten the same three foods?” Sam questioned nobody in particular, eyes never once straying from the fridge. 

A short argument ensued, as the Avengers present debated what would be their best option. Eventually, they decided on a hodgepodge of options. Natasha remembered seeing at least two sandwiches (turkey and a classic PB&J) three slices of cheese pizza, a mini bag of Cheetos, and a small selection of Girl Scout cookies. Clint accepted the tray of food from Sam and quickly informed everyone that he would deliver it to Peter. 

He quickly unlocked the door to Peter’s room, not shocked when the boy didn’t even turn around to greet him, despite the fact that Peter clearly was aware of his presence. He sat down in front of Peter and pushed the tray towards him, quickly pressing the button to release his handcuffs. 

A part of his heart shattered as he watched Peter stare, confused, down at the plate in front of him. 

_ Jesus, Hydra really never taught him anything.  _

Clint cleared his throat before he began pointing to items on the plate, casually naming them out loud, as though this was something he did often. 

Peter simply nodded. 

Clint stood up to leave, but before he left, he heard a voice behind him. 

“Uh…” Peter started, just loud enough to catch Clint’s attention, he turned around, shocked at the light pink tinge over the kid’s cheeks. He shrugged and looked down. 

“Thanks.” His voice was quiet, but Clint heard him well and clearly. He felt his heart flutter just a bit. 

“No problem, Peter.” he smiled, injecting as much kindness as he could into his voice, “Tony’s AI runs the place, so… just shout if you need anything.” He opened the door before quickly adding. 

“We are here for you kid, seriously.” 

And then he left, relocking the door before he could hear Peter’s response. 

Clint’s words echoed through Peter’s head as he looked down at the strange-looking foods on the tray. The words-- their softness, their kindness-- made Peter feel so sick he almost pushed the tray away altogether, but then his stomach protested again and he grabbed the first slice of pizza. 

It was oily and gooey, and unlike anything, Peter had ever had with Hydra. 

It tasted like a memory. 

It tasted like hope. 


	5. Too Bad, It Stops Hurting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very important relationship is formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
Here's a little Valentine's Day present  
Oof, it's been a while. Second semester has been crazy so far, and I really struggled with this chapter in general. The flow is kinda off and there's a really important moment that I didn't want to mess up. I hope you enjoy! All your kudos and comments mean the world to me and I love you all <3

Peter ate slowly, the plate from the Avengers had more food on it than Peter ate in a day, let alone for a single meal, and the whole thing was a tad bit overwhelming. He had never seen food that looked like this before. The colors, the textures, the explosion of taste in each bite was unusual, but not unwelcome. The sensations floated across his mouth in wisps of memories. 

Once he was done, he lowered his hands back down to his side and found himself shocked when the cuffs around his wrist snapped into place with seemingly no warning. He felt his brow furrow as he glanced around the room, trying to sense if an Avenger was nearby with the controls. 

“Hello, Peter.” A vaguely mechanical voice echoed from somewhere above Peter’s head. He glanced around, but he couldn’t see or sense anybody.

“My name is F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” the voice continued, “I was created by Mr. Stark to keep the building running smoothly. I will also be monitoring you during your stay here. Are you ready for Mr. Barton and Ms. Romanoff to come back?” 

Peter shoved down the curiosity that immediately perked up upon hearing the A.I’s voice, instead of trying to will back the mask that would hide away his emotions for a little longer. He sighed loudly, ignoring how stupid it felt to act in front of an A.I. 

“Yeah,” he forced an eye-roll for his invisible audience, “I guess I am.” 

F.R.I.D.A.Y. didn’t respond to him but after a few minutes, he felt the familiar prickling at the back of his neck, signaling the arrival of guests. 

Hawkeye and Blackwidow once again entered, Peter couldn’t hear anybody else. They were alone. Almost silently, they took their seats on the other side of the metal table. This time; however, the silence didn’t stretch between them for very long. 

“You good?” Hawkeye asked carefully, eyeing Peter’s reaction, “we can get you more food if you need anything.” Peter shook his head. 

“Doing great.” He sent a sarcastic smile their way, but they both seemed to accept it. Romanoff pulled a black bag into her lap and rustled around for a moment before she produced a sealed plastic water bottle. She placed it in front of Peter and his wrists uncuffed. 

For a moment, he just stared at it, unsure of what to do. He hadn’t drunk any water since he left, and he longed to feel it’s coolness splashdown his throat. The bottle was still sealed, so it was most likely safe to drink, but he still felt nervous taking anything from the Avengers. 

Sure, they freely provided him with food, but would it be the same with water? Or would the snatch it out of his hands. The silence must’ve stretched on for a moment too long because Clint reached forward as he had when he had brought Peter his plate.

“It’s a bottle of water--” he started before Natasha kicked him. He sent her a hurt look, but she ignored it. 

She pushed the bottle closer to Peter, as though she could read his mind. 

“We’re not gonna take it from you.” Peter looked up to meet her eyes, and she gave him a small nod, a ghost of a smile on her lips. 

She fought the urge to leave the room as she watched Peter uncap the bottle and take a tentative sip of the water, she knew what that was like. 

The constant fear, never knowing what was permanently yours, and what would be taken away at a moment’s notice. 

In places like Hydra and the Red Room, nothing was sacred. Everything was conditional. 

That kind of mindset fucked you up, Natasha knew it first hand. 

Once Peter had recapped the bottle, the interrogation resumed. 

“We just have a few more questions about you.” Natasha shuffled a few papers back into the black bag she had brought with her. Peter felt the surprise rise in his chest again.

_ Why did the Avengers want to know so much about him?  _

Since they had brought him in, there had been a few questions about Hydra, but almost every single moment was spent asking about him. 

Peter had to admit it, he was thrown. He couldn’t fathom why the Avengers cared about him. 

He wasn’t worth caring about. 

The Avengers didn’t seem to care about that, or maybe, they hadn’t realized it yet. 

Everything was about  _ him _ . 

They wanted to hear about his diet. His training. His abilities. His name. His life. 

“Is that alright, Peter?” Natasha asked, surprisingly tentative. Peter swallowed once, biting his bottom lip softly. He avoided everybody’s eyes. There was a question on the tip of his tongue, Natasha could see it. 

Peter looked up to meet her eyes, and Natasha watched as the emotions bounced through them. He jumped from hope to anger, to curiosity, finally ending on a sort of tired mistrust. With a sigh, he glanced back down. 

For a moment, Peter studied his hands, debating whether or not asking any questions would be worth it. 

He bit the bullet. 

“Why do you care?” He asked suddenly, the words coming out harsher than he attended. Before Natasha could answer, he continued, waving at himself. 

“About me, I mean.” 

The question caught both the superspies off guard. 

Clint recovered first. 

“What do you mean?” Peter sighed again, trying to push the anger away.  _ Why couldn’t they just get it?  _

“Why do you seem so interested in me?” The hysteria snuck in at the last moment, ruining the calm tone he tried to will into the question.   
“You keep asking about me and-- and I don’t get it! At first, I thought it was an interrogation technique, ya’ know? But it’s all you ask me about and I just-- I don’t understand.” Clint and Natasha exchanged confused glances following Peter’s outburst. It was out of left field for him. Neither of them had seen him express this much-uncontrolled emotion. 

“Well--” Clint stuttered for a moment, stunned, “we’re interested in you because you’re interesting…” He trailed off, glancing at Natasha, silently asking for help. 

“Without saying too much, Peter,” Natasha continued, “it’s rare we meet people like you. Your story is fascinating, to say the least.” Peter still looked confused, even more so, if that was possible.

“Does that make sense, Peter?” She asked again, Peter furrowed his brow and glanced up at her again, shrugging. 

“So you want to know about me? Just me?” He said the words slowly, as though he was still trying to make sense of them himself. 

“Just you.” Natasha tried to force a small smile. 

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Peter muttered, more too himself, before raising his voice, “I’m nothing.” 

That much, at least, he knew for sure. 

It had been one of the very first lessons Hydra had wanted to teach him. He had to do nothing, say nothing,  _ be nothing _ . It made it easier for him to carry out missions when the only thing he had to look forward to was the next time he could get out, the next time he could  _ be something _ . He could still picture the day Hydra gave him his second word. It was the day he realized that he would never be anything. 

_ “Agent Kent?” a seven-year-old Peter asked tentatively as he exited the training room, his eyes trained on the floor. Peter had been with Hydra for a few years now, he knew how it worked. Keep your eyes down. Never speak unless spoken too. Don’t question your superiors. Do what is needed to achieve Hyda’s mission.  _

_ Peter could do most of those things, his superiors scared him, so he never wanted to look at them or question their judgment anyways. He wasn’t sure what Hydra’s mission was, but he knew it involved helping people, and that was enough for him.  _

_ It was the second one that was difficult. It didn’t matter how many times he was punished, or had the rules drilled into his head-- Peter was full of questions, and if he didn’t start the conversation they would never get answered.  _

_ Even at seven, Peter had a quiet voice in the back of his mind that seemed to think that Hydra wasn’t telling him everything.  _

_ “Yes, Peter?” Agent Kent asked as he began to lead Peter back to his room.  _

_ “Sometimes, I hear you and Agent Wagner talking about going ‘home’ and I hear all of my other superiors talk about home too. What is that?” Agent Kent opened the door to Peter’s room and shuffled the young boy in, shutting the door behind them before he answered.  _

_ Peter was a bit embarrassed by the question, he wasn’t supposed to ask questions at all, and he definitely wasn’t supposed to ask questions about his superiors and their lives. But he couldn’t help it! Every time he heard it, he could never picture anything, the word itself meant absolutely nothing to him. And yet, hearing it would bring a strange feeling to his chest. He would feel warm in a way he could never recall feeling. He could almost smell something sweet. He wanted to know what he was being reminded of.  _

_ “Home,” Agent Kent began, “is a place we go at the end of the day. It’s where we live.” Peter nodded his understanding, daring to extend his question just a little bit.  _

_ “Thank you, superior. Does that make this my home?” He asked quietly, waving one of his small arms to encompass the tiny, gray space he stood in now. Agent Kent barked out a laugh like he couldn’t help himself.  _

_ Leaning down, he got to his knees so that he would have been eye-level with Peter. He placed one of his hands on Peter’s shoulder. It felt heavy and too warm through the thin black material of Peter’s shirt, but he didn’t dare object.  _

_ “No, Peter. You don’t have a home,” sensing Peter’s incoming question, he quickly continued, “home is for people who have something to return to, people who are something.” He said it with an air of finality as he stood, but Peter couldn’t help himself.  _

_ “I’m something!” He protested, before realizing his tone and quickly drawing back. “I mean, I have to be, right, sir?”  _

_ Agent Kent did not even look back at Peter as he stalked towards the door.  _

_ “When will you learn, Peter? You’re nothing.”  _

_ And then he was left in the darkness, in the silence of his own room, with more questions than he had before.  _

_ What did it mean to be nothing? _

Back in the interrogation room, the cool air began to feel hot and heavy around Peter as the silence stretched on between him and the Avengers sent to interrogate him.

The ones who couldn’t seem to stop asking questions about him. 

Clint seemed shocked, he didn’t even try to hide his facial expressions as he glanced at Peter with the type of remorse that Peter couldn’t even begin to place. He had never seen anybody look so  _ sad _ , at least, not in relation to him. 

Natasha didn’t seem near as shocked. She almost looked like she had expected this to happen. She looked at Peter for a moment, and he could almost see the gears turning in her head. She turned to Clint, and she quickly pushed Peter’s empty plate into his hands. 

“Go wash up, I’ll meet you upstairs.” 

It wasn’t a question it was barely a statement-- Natasha’s demand was clear, and it left little room for Clint to disagree with her, even though he looked like he wanted to. 

Instead, he simply nodded, taking the plate and standing up. Before he left, he turned back towards Peter and Natasha, and for a moment he hesitated, but not before leaving without another word. 

Clint trudged up the stairs, Peter’s quiet voice whispering “I’m nothing” to him over and over as he entered the kitchen. He didn’t even notice the rest of the team standing around the island as he entered, heads bent as they whispered to one another. 

As if he was in a trance, Clint approached the sink and set the plate down in the bottom, not even bothering to check the chore chart on the wall. He had attracted the attention of the rest of the team by now, and they were all staring at him as if they expected him to say something. 

But there was nothing to say, not really. 

“Clint?” Sam asked finally, his voice sounding strangely distant, “you okay?” 

Clint bypassed the question entirely. 

“One minute he’s a deadly assassin, the next he’s a fucking teenager with Stockholm syndrome and zero self-esteem.” He said finally, glancing up to survey the grim looks on everybody’s face. 

“Is Natasha still with him?” Steve asked though it was clear his mind was still focused on Clint’s earlier claim. 

“Yeah, she dismissed me pretty quickly, maybe it’s a good thing,” he waved his hand in the general direction of the stairs, “I don’t know if I can do that again.” 

The team nodded in understanding. 

“It’s like you said,” Wanda muttered, more for herself than for her teammates, “he flip flops so quickly I never know what to make of him.” 

“That’s what Hydra does to people,” Sam piped up, “it destroys every part of who you are and only leaves your training behind. And for a kid like Peter, who never got to build himself up or grow up in a normal environment, of course, his sense of self-worth is going to be fucked.” 

Clint took a seat at the island as he sighed and leaned his head in his hands. 

“And it’s about to get worse,” Tony added, “we’ve got company coming.” 

. . . 

For a moment, Natasha and Peter just stared at each other. The silence was uncomfortable, but Peter realized that it wasn’t as awful as he had initially expected it to be. 

Natasha didn’t know how to continue-- she had tried playing good cop, bad cop, the silence angle, the food angle. None of it was working. He would be hard to crack. 

“If you’re trying to get him out of Hydra,” a voice in the back of her mind whispered, “it might be less about cracking him and more about getting him to trust you.” Natasha nodded slowly to herself as she took a deep breath, realizing what she had to do. 

“I was trained as an assassin too, ya’ know? I worked for the Red Room.” Peter nodded. 

“I’m sure you knew that.” She added. 

“And I was just like you. I didn’t know how to be anything other than what I had always been. I didn’t know anything about the world, not really. And so I never had time to think about what I was doing-- I had to focus on surviving to the next day. I assume Hydra was the same?” 

Peter looked like he wanted to object for a moment, so Natasha continued. 

“I’m not saying that as a bad thing, or to judge you. Shield sometimes felt the same way.” 

He cocked his head to the side, looking impossibly young again, “really?” She nodded. 

“That thread of doubt is normal. Doubting our jobs is what makes us better. It helps us improve.” Peter nodded again. 

“Hydra does feel scary sometimes. I just-- I wish I knew more, about everything, sometimes.” Natasha nodded. 

“I felt the same way.” She gave Peter a soft smile, “I know this is tough for you, it’s tough to see your life looked at through a microscope, to be forced to examine your every action and thought. It’s exhausting.” 

Peter nodded, confused as he felt the emotion rise in his throat. He drank in Natasha’s gentle gaze, nothing like the hard looks she had given him days prior. 

She looked surprisingly genuine, and even if he wouldn’t admit it-- in that moment, he trusted her. 

“Yeah, it is exhausting.” He admitted finally, glancing down at her hands. 

“We’ll get you moved to a more permanent place soon,” Natasha promised, noting Peter’s surprised face, “I wasn’t kidding about that. We really do want you to be comfortable.” Peter stumbled for a moment, unsure if he wanted to thank her or reply with one of the sassy remarks that kept coming to mind. 

It was like he was stuck in a tornado, each one of his thoughts moving faster around him as he ping-ponged from confused, to angry, too scared, to incredibly tired. 

He never had time to say anything. Friday’s voice crinkled overhead, stopping their heart-to-heart dead in its tracks. 

“Ms. Romanoff? The Avengers are requesting your presence in the meeting room-- director Fury and Secretary Ross have arrived.” 

“Thank you, Friday. I’ll head up now.” Natasha nodded at the A.I. even if the gesture didn’t matter. She sighed deeply, turning back towards Peter as she stood up again. 

“I’ll be back soon, Peter. We’ll move you soon. You’ll be comfortable here, I’ll make sure of that.” 

Peter nodded again, his feelings fighting each other in his chest again. He didn’t say anything until she reached the door, as a snarky “see you next time, Romanoff.” slipped off her tongue. 

Natasha turned back towards him as a sly smirk came onto her lips. 

“You too, kiddo.” Her tone was light and teasing as she winked at Peter. 

And then she was gone. 

. . . 

To nobody’s surprise, Ross and Fury wanted to drag Peter off to the raft the second that they could. 

“He’s dangerous!” Ross told the Avengers as he outlined their plane for Peter. 

“He’s not going to be easy either,” Fury added, “it will be easier if we can get him out of this environment. Get some professionals on it.” 

“He’s literally just a kid!” Steve argued from his seat, while Sam and Wanda nodded their agreement. 

“He's enhanced.” Ross shot back. 

“So was I!” Wanda raised an eyebrow “and if I was allowed to stay with the Avengers, Peter should be afforded the same luxury.”

“We’re getting somewhere, we just need time!” Clint added quickly. 

“And how much longer do you need? I could have any agent get the information I need in a couple of days.” 

Natasha sighed deeply before she spoke up. 

“He’s beginning to trust me.” 

All eyes quickly shot towards Natasha, as the Avengers all tried to control their ranging degrees of shock. 

“We talked about Hydra today, just me and him. He said he’s tired. He wants to know more about the world, not destroy it.” 

Ross leaned towards her as she said these words, as though he was actually enjoying this conversation. 

“I  _ understand _ him,” she added, trying to ignore the pleading that had graced her tone, “I know what he needs because I was him.” She glanced back towards Fury.

“If he stays here, it might take longer, but we’ll get the information we need and we’ll save the kid’s life in the process. I know it.” Fury and Ross looked at each other, but neither of them spoke for a minute. 

“You can have another week.” Ross finally consented, “but I’ll be here to check in again, and I will not hesitate to take him back to the raft if I suspect that you’re getting nowhere.” 

Natasha forced herself to nod. 

“Of course, that won’t be a problem at all.” 

Ross and Fury nodded, and just as swiftly as they arrived, they left. Leaving the team to deal with the aftermath: no real resolution, a traumatized teenager who couldn’t stay in an interrogation room forever, and a fast-approaching deadline. 

. . .

Peter was staring blankly at his hands as Natasha entered his room with another man, the gentle thum at the back of his neck alerting him. 

“Hey Peter,” Natasha greeted, she waved to the other man, who gave Peter a small wave, “This is Sam.” 

“Hey, Peter.” Peter nodded in acknowledgment. 

“Are you ready to move somewhere a little more comfortable?” Natasha asked. Peter tried to fight the smile that almost reached his lips. 

A real room meant comfort, and more privacy, and hopefully a bathroom. 

(It also means a place to plan your mission.) Another voice hissed. 

“Sure.” He responded, trying to keep up his facade of disinterest. Sam approached Peter first. Peter felt his cuffs detach from the chair. 

“For security, we need to handcuff you just until we get to your room, okay?” Peter nodded again. 

“Can you stand up for me, please?” Peter complied wordlessly, trying to ignore the confusion that spiked through him at the politeness of the claim itself. 

“Thanks,” Sam reached towards Peter’s wrists, his voice genuine, “Is it okay for me to grab your wrists?” 

“Uh… y-yeah.” Peter stammered out, as he once again tried to work out the shock at being asked about something as simple as touching him. 

Nobody at Hydra ever asked if it was okay to touch him. 

It was a given that they could. 

Regardless of what Peter thought about. 

(They’re just trying to give you the illusion of choice. They’ll do whatever they want). The voice reminded him as Sam tightened the cuffs around Peter’s wrist. 

“Do you want me to guide you by the arm?” Sam asked again, and Peter shrugged.

“That’s fine.”

Sam nodded and placed a surprisingly gentle hand on Peter’s arm, leading him to the door. Natasha stood on his otherside but didn’t touch him as the door opened and Peter was led out of the interrogation room. 

Peter looked down the hallways as best he could as they made their way up a flight of stairs and down a couple of hallways, but he couldn’t look too far without looking suspicious. 

Finally, they arrived at a dark wood door, and Natasha opened it. 

Peter almost felt his jaw drop. 

The room was two, maybe three times bigger than his room at Hydra. The bed was large and the white sheets looked impossibly soft. There was a couch and a TV on the other side of the room, and a desk with a sparse looking bookshelf on top of it. A set of wooden drawers that matched the same dark wood of the door and the desk stood off next to another door, which Peter could see was connected to a bathroom. 

Sam walked Peter farther into the room and smiled at the look of disbelief in his eyes. He unclasped Peter’s cuffs as he laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder. 

“Let me know if you have any dinner requests kid, just ask Friday.” Peter looked at him for the first time, brown eyes large. He nodded. 

“I’ll try anything once.” He shrugged as he glanced back towards Natasha, who was still standing in front of the door. 

“That’s what I like to hear!” Sam remarked as he headed towards the door, excited for the chance to experiment with a new audience. He nodded at Natasha, who moved away from the door as he left. 

The door closed behind him and Natasha and Peter were left alone once again. 

“I’m sure you want to settle in, so I’ll keep this brief.” Peter tried to swallow the voice inside of him that wasn’t ready for her to leave, the one buried deep in his gut that whispered “no, stay, tell me more.” as he nodded. 

“Everything in here is recorded, but Friday will only alert one of us if it seems you’re doing something dangerous. You have a free range of everything in here, and we’ve grabbed a couple of books and movies you might like. We’re not done with this; of course, but we won’t resume until tomorrow. Sounds good?” 

Peter nodded once again, feeling a sense of awe at the freedom he had been afforded. It felt like more than he ever got at Hydra. 

“Good. You might want to shower and change soon. Sam’s going to be so excited to feed you dinner.” Natasha gave him another soft smile as she opened the door herself. 

“See you soon, kid.” 

Peter opened his mouth to object to the nickname, but before he could, Natasha was gone. With a sigh, Peter headed towards the ensuite. 

He stared at the knobs on the shower for a moment, confused by the options. He ignored the red one, opting instead to turn on the same cold water he would have showered with at Hydra. 

“Here,” Friday’s mechanical voice crackled overhead, “I’ll set the water warmer.” Before Peter could object, the water changed suddenly. Instead of the cold, icy spray, he was used to, the water suddenly felt… warm? 

He sighed as the hot water pelted into his back, and he couldn’t help but turn his face to the warm water as it rained down. 

The growl of his stomach was the only reason he eventually gathered up the strength to turn off the water. As he wrapped himself in a fluffy towel, he felt himself smiling. 

He was gonna take a lot of warm showers while he was here. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you liked it! 
> 
> Tumblr: spiclergwen


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